Jump Spirit
by Swiss Army Knife
Summary: Stories exploring the character and relationships of Momoshiro Takeshi. Chapter Summary: Later, the only thing Kaidoh would remember was bicycle wheels; Momoshiro gets hit by a car, and Kaidoh sees it happen.
1. Shock

Author's Note: Stories about Momoshiro Takeshi through the lens of thirty (or so) emotions. This began as a form of personal entertainment while I watched the series, but it became a great deal more. In such a character-rich environment as Prince of Tennis, there are endless combinations to write about. Expect this compilation to run the gamut (there's even a Kabaji story). Please enjoy!

**Jump Spirit  
**by Swiss Army Knife

* * *

**Shock**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Kaidoh, Inui  
Summary: Momoshiro gets hit by a vehicle while riding his bicycle; Kaidoh sees it happen.

* * *

Bicycle wheels. That's what he would remember. The sound of bicycle wheels hissing over damp pavement. Silver spokes catching rays of light as they broke through dissipating clouds. There was more, but beyond the bicycle there was obfuscating fog. Deliberate fog. He didn't want to remember.

That whole day it had rained, but in the evening the skies cleared to reveal an orange, low-hanging sun. Kaidoh relished it as he jogged, sending up spits of water every time his sneakers hit the ground. There was a breeze blowing, and it felt good against his warm skin. Sunk in meditation, he focused on the rhythm of his breathing, the movement of his legs, the pace. Then, bicycle wheels. The sound drew his attention as he was passing over a pedestrian bridge, and he glanced down to see a familiar form peddling alongside the road. The blue bike frame, the black uniform. They left no doubt. Momoshiro.

Kaidoh muttered an exasperated, "Che." Even when there was no practice, he couldn't go a day without seeing that guy. Still, it wasn't as though they had to stop and chat. They weren't even going in the same direction. Momoshiro _had _spotted him; he raised a hand from his handlebars, giving a short wave. He also flashed that gratingly friendly smile of his, like he only remembered they were supposed to be rivals part of the time.

Unwilling to indulge the dolt, Kaidoh jerked his head around. It was only by chance that he glanced back just as the crossing light turned green and Momoshiro began to glide across, bicycle wheels spinning. The road was still slick, and an oncoming vehicle, a ancient looking truck piled with crates, wasn't slowing. Shrill honks of warning rose from other cars, followed by the shriek of breaks put on too suddenly on the wet road. It hydroplaned, over corrected, lost control. Poised halfway across the intersection, the figure on the bike looked up.

"_Momo!_" Kaidoh heard himself scream just as the truck struck.

Then he was running, or at least his body was. It seemed like his brain was still stuck back on the bridge, staring helplessly at the crosswalk. He barely registered the smell of acrid black smoke pouring from the crashed vehicle or the chaos of interrupted traffic. His senses had latched onto the body lying in the middle of the road, while a twisted bicycle tire turned slowly somewhere nearby.

"Momoshiro," Kaidoh said hoarsely. The pavement was damp, and his knees were soaked as soon as he knelt. He hesitated, his throat in knots, unsure where to lay his hands.

There was blood all over, matting down Momoshiro's hair. It had soaked through his clothes, his white school oxford barely recognizable. He was curled on his side, but his arms and legs didn't look right. Like the limbs of a doll, they seemed too loose to be attached to his body properly. Kaidoh jerked the bandana off his head, some instinct shrieking that he should _do_ something, but he didn't know what.

There were background noises. Someone had already called an ambulance: _Car accident, hit a boy on a bike. He's not moving, I can't tell if he's breathing_. Someone had knelt on Momoshiro's other side, was gently peeling back his clothing. "Put pressure here," the person said, and Kaidoh complied with automatic movements. Trusting a stranger because he couldn't _think_.

The wail of a siren. Staccato beats of boots on pavement, and then there were people in uniforms pushing Kaidoh back. He sat, the wet asphalt seeping through the seat of his shorts, and listened to them speak in medical language he barely understood. Finally, one said, "Ready the stretcher. One, two, three. Lift."

Kaidoh lost it just a little when he realized they were leaving. They tried to stop him from climbing into the back of the ambulance, and he heard himself saying wild things, crazy things: _He's my friend. Let me go. He's my friend. Stop. I need to go with him_.

In the end, they let him. Lifted him into the back like he was a kid and sat him down on a bench squished into the narrow space. A heavy hand pressed his head down between his knees, a voice saying, "Breathe, kid, just breathe. Geez, what was I supposed to do? I just couldn't leave him out there on the street. He's having a panic attack."

Frantic movement of which he was only partially aware. He could barely see Momoshiro as the emergency technicians worked. At one point, one of them spoke to him again. "Hey, do you know his blood type?"

"O negative," Kaidoh answered, the information falling out of nowhere. Was it in one of Inui's notebooks? Had his senpai rattled it off during a training session, or a tournament match, or some other time he couldn't remember?

Background noises: _My God, what's holding this kid together? _

Kaidoh didn't realize he was hyperventilating until one of the technicians grabbed his wrist. "Hold his hand or something, kid. Anything. Just calm down."

Hold his hand? Even now, with Momoshiro barely breathing on a stretcher in the back of an ambulance, he couldn't. That wasn't something they did. He stared at his trembling fingers, at his teammate lying there, surrounded by chaos. He reached out and grasped the front of his shirt, drawing the bloody edges back together, and gripped it until he could feel the bite of his nails through the fabric. It was a movement he'd made a thousand, thousand times. He exhaled. He could do this.

When they arrived at the hospital, Kaidoh wandered into the emergency bay, barely aware of where he was. There were chairs. He sat in one, his hands dangling between his knees. Questions, a woman in scrubs kneeling in front of him. "They said you were his friend. What's his name? How old is he? Do you know his home phone number?"

Somehow he answered everything. Momoshiro Takeshi, who had just turned fourteen a few days before the Kanto tournament, which Kaidoh knew because their birthdays were only four months apart. He even knew the phone number, could recite it through he could barely feel his lips moving. How the hell did he know?

He lost track of time after that. He wasn't even waiting for news. He just couldn't go. Not while Momoshiro was here somewhere, hurt. Or was he dead? Kaidoh put his head down again, like he had in the ambulance, and concentrated on breathing.

* * *

It seemed that a lot of time had passed. The unnatural lighting of the emergency waiting room made it hard to tell, but Kaidoh's muscles were stiff from sitting so long. He was drooping with exhaustion, elbows on his knees, when he heard a familiar voice call his name.

"Kaidoh."

His neck creaked as he lifted his head. A figure in green track pants stood before him, scrutinizing him through dark glasses. Kaidoh worked his throat until he was able to speak. "Inui-senpai."

Inui sat down on the seat beside him, and Kaidoh was stunned when he initiated physical contact by placing a hand on his back. "Your family has been very worried about you. They didn't know where you were."

Another little jolt. "What time is it?"

"Morning. School will be starting soon."

That meant he had been at the hospital all night. "How did you know I was here?"

"Ryuzaki-sensei got a call from your parents about two o'clock this morning. We've been looked for you since then, but it wasn't until a few hours ago when things started to click." Inui paused. "That's when we heard about Momoshiro."

Kaidoh swallowed thickly. He wasn't ready to think about that yet. "I didn't realize what time it was," he admitted.

Inui nodded. "You're in shock."

Was he? Realizing how frightened he'd probably made everyone, he tried to straighten, to get enough feeling in his numb feet to stand. "I need to call my parents."

Pressure, holding him down. Inui's measured voice was very reassuring. "I already let them know, as soon as I confirmed you were here and that you weren't hurt."

Confused, Kaidoh expanded his senses beyond his aching muscles and fuzzy head. He was still in his running shorts, which were no longer wet. However, his shirt was stained and his fingernails were caked. Seeing them brought a sudden bout of nausea. Somewhat woozy, Kaidoh said, "I'm fine. This...this isn't mine."

"I spoke to some of the nurses on duty," Inui said. "They said you came in with Momoshiro. Did you see it happen?"

"I was training, and I just happened to be passing over a bridge. The roads were slick and the truck couldn't stop." Flashes of memory flooded him. Shrieking horns, the hiss of tires sliding across asphalt. A sound he had never known before, an impact of flesh and metal. Then smoke, his bandana hanging uselessly from his hand, and bicycle wheels. He closed his eyes on the images. "He looked dead."

"They took him into surgery when he first arrived, and then again a few hours ago. They won't release more information to non-family members, so we probably won't know much for a few days." Inui's paused, then said, "He is alive, Kaidoh."

Kaidoh curled over further, wrapping his arms around his stomach. "I think I might be sick."

His senpai stood. "Let's go to the restroom. You can wash your face, and then we should leave. I've volunteered to take you home."

* * *

For the next week, the Seigaku tennis club waited for news. The pressure it exerted on all of them was terrible, though it manifested in different ways. For Oishi, it meant a precious thin temper. He scolded the wide-eyed freshmen, snapped at anyone who so much as whispered Momoshiro's name. Eiji and Kawamura-senpai were emotional, one minute listless and lethargic, the next tearful and effusive. Fuji had responded by gaining a dangerous edge, talking little and playing tennis like it was life or death. No one would engage him except Inui, and even those matches were short.

Echizen wasn't there. Inui told Kaidoh that when Ryoma had been informed about what happened, he'd walked off the court and gone home. Eiji had gone by his house, but apparently a worried looking young woman had appeared at the door and sent him away. Kaidoh wished he could retreat like that. As it was, he was barely functioning and had no heart for practice. One of the other sophomores beat him six games to two, and he didn't even care.

On the fifth day, Kaidoh was called out of class by Ryuzaki-sensei. She was waiting for him at the end of the hall, and when he reached her, she gave him a measured look. "Good news," she said. "Momoshiro woke up yesterday and was able to talk normally. They were worried because of the head injury, but he seems okay. No permanent damage."

Worry detached from his shoulders like a weighted jacket, and Kaidoh suddenly felt as though he could move more freely. "He's alright?"

Ryuzaki-sensei cleared her throat in lieu of answering. "Apparently, his memory of what happened is a little fuzzy, but he seems to know you were there. The doctors thought it might ease his mind if you visited."

In Kaidoh's mind, he saw a slowly spinning bicycle wheel, so misshapen that it was barely identifiable. Ryuzaki-sensei seemed to read his frozen expression, and a compassionate frown tugged at her mouth.

"Kaidoh, Inui told me that witnessing the accident was traumatic for you." His reaction was to turn his head away and hiss with annoyance, but she didn't let that stop her. "Even if the person had been a stranger, it would have been terrible, but you and Momo have always been close, and I know that makes it worse."

Close? They weren't even friends. Screaming at each other and trying to throttle one another on occasion didn't make you friends. '_But you knew his phone number_,' a small, inward voice murmured. It creeped him out that it sounded like Inui-senpai. '_You know his birthday, his favorite food, where he spends his time after school.'_ Irrelevant, he told himself. They were teammates.

Ryuzaki-senpai startled him by placing a hand on his arm. "I think it would be good for you to go. Seeing him doing better might make it easier. And perhaps it will help him recover, too."

Kaidoh felt himself nodding, even though he didn't want to. How could he say no to that?

* * *

The hospital brought back indistinct but disconcerting memories. As he passed a plastic chair in the waiting area, he wondered if that was the one he'd sat in, or if all the chairs looked like that. After a long, slow elevator ride, doors ratcheted open on a hallway crowded with the smell of antibacterial cleaning solution. Kaidoh felt immaterial as he moved uncertainly onto the floor. The nurses at the station barely glanced at him, and he could hear disembodied voices mixed with the constant hum of overhead fluorescent lights.

"Kaidoh-kun."

He turned to find a dark-haired woman beckoning to him. He didn't recognize her at first, but as soon as Kaidoh was close enough, he knew without a doubt who she was. Momoshiro had her eyes. She smiled at him, a tired expression, and ushered him toward a partially open door.

"I'm glad you came. He keeps asking for you. We tried to tell him you were fine, but I don' t think he'll be content until he sees you for himself."

The room contained almost nothing except a hospital bed. Momoshiro was lying on it, sunk into the pillow. On the tennis court, he always seemed big, but now he looked just as he had curled on the pavement with his limbs all wrong and blood making a curtain down his face. Then Momoshiro opened his eyes. They were a hazy, surrounded by pockets of bruised skin, but they were alive. He blinked, and the frighteningly blank expression disappeared as the muscles of his face stretched to form a faint smile.

"Yo," he said in a voice that was hoarse but recognizable.

Kaidoh stared. He felt his mouth forming words, spoke before he processed them. "That's all you've got to say to me after all this?"

Those half-moon eyes made a slow survey of the room, the tubes, and the beeping sound that Kaidoh's words seemed to encompass. His throat clicked, and with effort he said, "Yep. You got a problem with that, Mamushi?"

Hearing that stupid nickname, Kaidoh could have cried. Instead, he choked down on the sensation of overwhelming relief and stepped closer. His gaze caught on a cast. Most of the damage was hidden beneath the blanket, but not that. Not his head, either, which was gristly in spite of the padding tapped over it. Momoshiro caught him looking and raised a feeble hand.

"Cut my hair," he said mournfully. "Got some stitches."

Kaidoh wanted to ask how hurt he was, if he was in pain, but in the end he just pitched his voice scornfully. "You look like you're being held together with staples and medical tape, and you're worried about your stupid hair?"

A wheeze that might have been a chuckle. "Some of us have a little pride in our masculine beauty."

Kaidoh scoffed. "It'll take a lot more than a haircut to make you less ugly."

"Says the guy whose face makes freshmen cry," Momo retorted.

The banter felt good, normal, but the effort had cost Momoshiro. His eyes drifted shut, his face going tight. The silence lengthened until Kaidoh got up the courage to speak. "I saw it happen. The truck."

Momo's eyes slowly slide open. "I don't remember the truck."

"It lost control in front of the crosswalk, couldn't stop." Kaidoh didn't realize until that moment that his hands were shaking, and he shoved them in his pockets. He swallowed to banish any trace of a tremor when he spoke. "Well, at least you still have all your body parts."

"Be back to practice in no time," Momoshiro said, but it was a heavy, labored statement. There was too much knowledge between them, in the machines and the thick black stitches. It would be a while before he would hold a racket again, and Kaidoh was suddenly reminded of all the times he wished he could play tennis without having to deal with Momo's big mouth. He hadn't realized how much of a liar he was until right then.

"I should go."

"Kaidoh." Momoshiro's creaky voice stopped him at the door. "Can-can you do me a favor?"

"Do you want me to sneak you in a hamburger?"

That wheezy chuckle again. "No. I got a little cut up inside. No solid food for a while."

A creeping feeling of unrest filled Kaidoh from his neck to his toes. He'd known. Of course he'd known. He forced his voice to remain even. "What then?"

"Echizen," Momoshiro said. The dark coloration around his eyes seemed to deepen, and the tight lines were back, too, making creases like zigzags of pain. "Could you bring him next time you come? Mom tried calling, but she couldn't reach him –"

Momoshiro's voice subsided, but the hurt lingered. Kaidoh decided then and there he was going to kick Echizen's ass the next time he saw him, emotional constipation or not. To Momo, he said, "I swear, if I have to drag him out of his house, I'll get him here."

Momoshiro sighed, sinking into the pillows. "Thanks, Kaidoh."

In his mind, Kaidoh remembered bicycle wheels spinning through a rainbow sheen of water on asphalt. A green crossing light, shining like a false promise. However, the relaxed look on Momoshiro's face, his chest rising and falling regularly, even the damned beeping, cast a reassuring spell. Momoshiro had survived the accident, would get well. Kaidoh could close the lens on those dark memories.

"Hey, dumbass," he said before he left.

An eye cracked open, a question mark clear in a slightly raised brow.

Kaidoh ducked his chin. "Get better fast, okay, or I'll never forgive you."

How was it that Momoshiro could smile, even lying in a hospital bed, barely able to lift his head? "I'm glad you came," he said, and then his breathing lengthened and he seemed to fall asleep.

Kaidoh shut the door carefully behind him. Nodding to Momo's mother, he reached for the button on the elevator, already thinking of his next destination. He might not be much of a friend in the traditional sense, but he and one other person were going to come back later this afternoon. After all, a promise was a promise.

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on episode (99) _The Cursed Racket_, in which Momoshiro almost gets run over by a truck. Since Ryoma witnessed the whole thing, it got me thinking about how a friend _would _react if Momo was hit while riding that ubiquitous bicycle of his. Since Ryoma would have shut down on me too much for a good story, cranky, sensitive Kaidoh got to take his place. Pobrecito.


	2. Embarrassment

**Embarrassment**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Ryoma  
Summary: Ryoma asks Momoshiro about girls and almost gives him a stroke.

* * *

Ryoma rarely found the time for people his own age, and so it came as something of a shock to him that he had somehow made friends at Seishun Gakuen. He actually had _four_ friends, or maybe it was six. It was hard to know if one included girls. Did they maybe count as half?

"Momo-senpai," he asked during their bike ride home that afternoon. "Do you count girls as friends?"

"A hard question," Momo answered, but he was wearing the sort of grin that made Ryoma suspicious he was being made fun of. "I would say definitely, except I guess it depends on whether you, you know, _really_ like her or something. Why? Are you making a roster?"

In retaliation, Ryoma ribbed, "Would you count Tachibana's sister on your roster?"

He had the satisfaction of watching Momoshiro turn a deep red, which just proved that Ryoma wasn't nearly as socially backward as people made him out to be. Hadn't he been able to exploit Momoshiro's emotional weakness twice now? That meant he _noticed_ Momo's feelings. Yes, he was definitely getting much better at this friendship thing.

Which brought him back to his original question. There were a lot of girls that hung around Ryoma, but he mostly ignored them. They were, overall, even less interesting than Horio, Kachiro, and Katsuo, and had nothing to do with tennis. He didn't feel quite the same way about Sakuno, but that might be because she was related to Ryuzaki-sensei. How would he know if he _really_ liked her, as Momo suggested?

"We should talk about girls some more," Ryoma decided, which caused Momoshiro to choke on the tune he was whistling.

"Why do you want to talk about that?"

"You're supposed to be my senpai, aren't you?"

"As if you actually think of me as your senpai," Momo muttered, but he was flushed again, and his gaze had become wary. "What exactly do you want to talk about?"

Ryoma considered asking about pornography just to see if Momoshiro would have a stroke, but then he might crash his bicycle, and Ryoma really didn't want to walk home. Besides, he was honestly interested. "Girls. How do you know if you _really_ like them?

Momoshiro swallowed, looking up at the sky above them, which was a cloud-speckled blue. "Well," he began. "You can feel it, I guess."

"What does it feel like?"

Picking at his collar, Momo asked, "Are you sure you wouldn't rather talk about tennis?"

"Momo-senpai," Ryoma scolded him for evading the topic.

"Alright, alright. It feels weird, like something is squirming around in your belly, but you kind of like it. And it's warm, definitely warm. And kind of scary?"

Ryoma stared. "Are you sure you know what you're talking about, Senpai?"

Now it was Momo's turn to give a rebuke. "You asked me to tell you, and I told you. If you don't like it, then don't ask stupid questions."

Realizing that he had messed up somehow, Ryoma was regretful. He enjoyed teasing his friend; however, he didn't like the injured look Momo was wearing, or how he had his eyes averted, or the way his fingers had become tense on the handlebars of his bike. He leaned over Momoshiro's shoulder.

"Sorry, Momo-senpai."

Momoshiro huffed, but he wasn't like Kaidoh, who when affronted had been known to stalk off and not talk to him for days, or like Tezuka, whose approval required hard work to earn again once you lost it, or even like Sakuno, who would have cried. Momo-senpai didn't work like that. Instead, he tossed a grin over his shoulder, and all was forgiven. Ryoma breathed a little easier.

"I still don't understand about girls."

"I didn't either until not too long ago," Momo admitted. "I mean, I always _noticed_ them, I guess, but I didn't really feel anything."

"Did that change recently?" Ryoma asked, a hint of teasing finding its way back into his voice. He was thinking of their encounter with a girl in a spandex skirt, waving to them at the edge of the street-tennis courts and smiling – it seemed to Ryoma – just a little more favorably on Momo-senpai than on anyone else.

Perhaps Momoshiro was thinking of the same thing, because he had turned that funny shade of pink again. "Maybe."

Leaning back, Ryoma thought back on the time he had spent with Sakuno, trying to remember if she made him feel weird or warm or afraid. Momo seemed to understand that he was having difficulty, because he interrupted.

"Let me try again. You know that feeling when you walk on the court, and your stomach does a little flip when you realize your opponent is really good? And your heart starts beating hard, and your hands get clammy around the racket, and you feel hot and excited and nervous all at the same time?"

Ryoma experienced the scenario with a shiver of remembrance. "Of course."

"Well, it feels something like that."

Sakuno did make him feel different. He didn't mind her, sometimes even felt inclined to make space for her among the other things in his life. Her hair was sort of pretty, even if it was too long for good tennis, and she had a nice smell. But she didn't bring anything near the same emotion as walking onto the court with anticipation singing under his skin and in his heart.

"I don't think I've felt that way about anyone yet," he concluded.

The older boy shrugged. "I wouldn't worry about. It's one of those things that happens on its own. Although," he said, casting back a cheeky grin, "you're such a pipsqueak, it might take a while."

Ryoma tapped his chin. "You know, Momo-senpai, I think I'm going to talk to Tachibana-san. He would probably want to know that you have designs on his sister."

"Designs?" Momoshiro said incredulously, a second before the full impact of Ryoma's threat hit him and he practically ran them off the road with his sudden swerve. He braked hard, sending Ryoma plowing into his back. "Echizen, you wouldn't."

"Maybe An would like it," Ryoma suggested. "You can't be indecisive forever, Senpai."

Momoshiro swallowed, looking perplexed and a little sick to his stomach. A short, jerky shake of the head was his only acknowledgement, and then he kicked off the ground and began peddling again. He didn't say much for the remainder of the ride home, seeming to be deep in contemplation. Whatever he was thinking about, the back of his neck was streaked red.

Ryoma considered. It seemed that Momo-senpai did like someone who made him feel as though he was about to play really good tennis. The problem was that he wasn't doing anything about it. Fudomine's Kamio was clearly an opponent, but Momo didn't seem willing to engage. At this rate he was going to lose the match. Ryoma decided to call Fuji-senpai when he got home. If they were going to help Momoshiro, they would need to start strategizing. Maybe there was even some kind of special training.

Ryoma smiled. After all, Momo-senpai deserved to be happy, and what made one happier than victory?

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on episode (71) _It's a Date_. Who didn't love seeing Ryoma exploit Momoshiro's painful embarrassment in this episode? Playful, devious Ryoma is a personal favorite; he's so serious most of the time that I love seeing him tease his friend in episodes like this one and episode (21) _Is the Tennis Court Burning Up?_ As a side note, the Seigaku match-making brigade is terrifying.


	3. Joy - Rage - Sadness - Dislike - Pride

**Joy**

Character(s): Momoshiro  
Summary: Momoshiro Takeshi had joy's number.

* * *

Momoshiro Takeshi had joy's number.

Joy was when his tennis racket became merely an extension of the rest of his arm, and every other thing in the world faded. It was the lurch of his heart when the ball blurred toward him, and the sensation of stretching for those just out of reach. It was when the desperation of his effort made pain and pleasure alike, and everything in his body _burned,_ raw to the bone. Aware of every movement. Salt in his mouth from the salt on his lips. A euphoria of concentration, body, spirit, and the sport.

That was joy.

* * *

**Rage**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Kaidoh  
Summary: When an opponent deliberately injures a teammate.

* * *

The dishonorable bastard had done it on purpose. A deliberate flick, and the ball had deflected into his face – so hard that spectators swore they heard an audible _snap_ – and then Kaidoh's nose wouldn't stop bleeding. Sorry, so sorry, their opponent had demurred.

But Momoshiro had seen the smirk behind the concerned, pouting frown, and he'd felt a fury that didn't normally stand up under his amiable temperament.

Afterward, he told himself that he would have reacted like that in defense of any of his teammates – in defense of anyone. And it maybe, might have been true. But he probably wouldn't have broken their arm.

* * *

**Sadness**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Nanjiro, Ryoma  
Summary: Nanjiro realizes he's missing something.

* * *

Nanjiro had taken no real notice when his son had spiraled wildly out of character by making a friend.

Sure, he'd shown some limited amount of interest in the strange confederation. However, it had remained a lethargic attention, until one afternoon he'd happened to look out onto the back porch where the two were sitting, sweaty and lazy in the wake of a fierce tennis match.

The sophomore was loud: joking, ribbing, boasting outrageously. Loosing interest, Nanjiro had almost missed it. Then, all of a sudden, he realized that Ryoma was _smiling _at that lanky boy_._ It had stunned him, because he hadn't known his child knew how to stretch his face that way.

He paid more attention to Momoshiro Takeshi after that. He watched them as his son changed and grew, and with time it began to make him just a little sad, because he knew now what he was missing. No mere esteem, nor begrudging respect, but affection, easy companionship, and that smile.

* * *

**Dislike**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Kaidoh  
Summary: Things that Momoshiro and Kaidoh like (or dislike).

* * *

Momoshiro liked hamburgers. He liked riding his bicycle, and pop music, and puppies. He also liked Puma tennis shoes. Kaidoh liked yam soba and running. He used to like Puma tennis shoes, but he'd very deliberately changed his mind about them when he found out they were Momoshiro's preferred brand. The day they'd fought over the last pair at the store, Momo had blazed and fought and triumphed. Afterward Kaidoh had shouted in his face that he wouldn't have worn the same shoe as such a buffoon anyway. And he had meant it.

It was childish, but when things came to Momoshiro, Kaidoh didn't care. Or course, watching him and Echizen eat hamburgers would turn anyone off them. He did still liked puppies, even if Momoshiro did, too. One had to draw the line somewhere.

* * *

**Pride**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Ryoma  
Summary: Ryoma thinks his pride might get in the way of having a friend like himself. Fortunately, Momo isn't like that.

* * *

"I think, it would bother me," Ryoma said, kicking his heels against the side of his bed. Behind him, his bags were all packed, tags already affixed with his name – in both Kanji and English.

He thought it might bother him, but he really didn't know. He'd always been what he was, a prodigy. There had never been someone younger, better, swifter, or smarter. In the wake of their recent match, perhaps their last for a long while, Ryoma tried to imagine what it might be like, and he thought it might bother him just a little. Maybe a lot.

"Naw, I'm happy for you," Momoshiro answered. He had folded and unfolded the acceptance letter to the U.S. Open many times. He patted it. Then he turned to grin directly into his friend's face. "Go get 'em, Echizen."

* * *

Author's Note:

[Joy] No episode commentary. Just a general impression of Momoshiro's tennis and the pleasure he takes from it. As Inui said so well in (73) _Tezuka's Decision_, tennis is one of those things that the more you get involved, the more helplessly enthusiastic you become.

[Rage] Based on episode (116) _Seigaku vs. Champian Rikkaidai_, when Momo almost attacks Kirihara in the hospital. If someone deliberately hurt one of his teammates, I think Momoshiro would lose it, especially if it were Kaidoh or Ryoma. Frankly, I was sort of relieved he wasn't there when the racket broke in the Echizen vs. Ibu match.

[Sadness] No particular episode, except those which display Ryoma and his father's relationship early in the series. As this relates to Momoshiro, I liked (24) _Ryoma's Day Off _when Nanjiro comments indirectly on Momo's friendship with Ryoma by complimenting him on handling his boy's stupidity.

[Dislike] Based on episode (161) _Run, Momo! _Kaidoh and Momo's tempestuous relationship never gets old, especially when it's over something as trivial as their run-in over tennis shoes in this episode. They are also united in their love of cute puppies, as seen in (117). Go figure.

[Pride] Based on episode (171) _To My Dear Friend_, which made me cry. Momoshiro never ceases to impress me with how consistently he's able be the kind of friend an extremely talented person like Ryoma needs. As this episode seems to prove, Ryoma is aware of it, too.


	4. Sorrow

**Sorrow**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Fuji, Yuuta  
Summary: Yuuta and Fuji are out shopping when they run into Momoshiro with his little brother. For Yuuta, watching them together brings back memories.

* * *

The bright overhead lights of the department store lit up the interior and its rows of store fronts and vendors. His hands shoved deep in his pockets, Fuji Yuuta ambled past them mostly unseeing, unable to stop himself from feeling self-conscious. He glanced sideways, where his brother walked with perfect composure as always.

Shuusuke chuckled. "You look so tense, Yuuta. Is going out with me really such a chore?"

Though the comment was light, Yuuta still grimaced. Ever since the match between their schools, the two brothers had made an effort to reconnect, but years of strain made their relationship uneasy. Perhaps that was the reason he jerked his head to the side, muttering, "Let's just get this over with, okay?"

His remark provoked a rare downward curve to take possession of his brother's mouth, but there was no time for Yuuta to feel guilty, because at that moment a loud voice hailed them, or, more accurately, his brother: "Oye, Fuji-senpai!"

Shuusuke's usual pleasant expression was back in place as some guy jogged over. Yuuta recognized him as one of the other Seigaku regulars, the one who had bickered with his doubles partner during intervals and then knocked out Yanagisawa with the most powerful overhead smash Yuuta had ever seen. His stomach sank at his approach, feeling even more awkward being with his brother in the presence of one of his teammates.

"Momoshiro," Shuusuke greeted. "What a surprise. Yuuta and I were just running errands."

Momoshiro flashed Yuuta a look of recognition. "You're the one who played Echizen. What a great match. I'm glad I didn't have to face your Super Rising shot!"

Yuuta shifted beneath the unexpected praise. "Ah, thanks."

Suusuke's attention, meanwhile, had shifted. He remarked, "Oh, is this one of your siblings, Momo? You have two, don't you."

For the first time, Yuuta noticed that Momoshiro wasn't alone. He was standing with a scrappy looking kid wearing an elementary school uniform. The boy was gripping Momoshiro's hand and looking up at the Fuji brothers with interest.

Momoshiro laughed. "Yeah. My little sister is home today, but this is Sato."

Bending over, Shuusuke addressed the boy, "You must be Momo's little brother."

Yuuta flinched out of instinct, the sting of that remark still present even when it wasn't directed at him, but to his surprise the kid puffed up his chest, declaring, "Yeah! Onii-chan took me to get my first real racket today. Look!"

Proudly, he thrust forward a skinny arm, showing off a brand new junior-sized racket. He was also wearing a sweat band, which he had pushed up in obvious imitation of his brother's usual style.

Momoshiro put a hand on the boy's head, tousling his hair. "Sato is six today. That's old enough to start playing seriously, don't you think?"

Yuuta hadn't thought it was possible for Sato to look any more pleased, but his eyes were shinning as he looked at his brother. In an outburst of happiness, he threw his arms around Momoshiro's waist, squeezing. "Onii-chan is gonna teach me everything!"

Witnessing this, Yuuta experience a profound pang of sorrow. His mind wandered back over the years, remembering a time when he, too, had clung to his older brother like that. With an effort, he could even recall their earliest days on the tennis court, when playing together had still been fun. They were good memories.

Momoshiro was making his excuses for leaving. "We're having a birthday celebration tonight, and my parents will kill me if we're late."

As they walked away, Sato waving his racket precariously, Yuuta overheard him say, "Nii-chan, was that Fuji-san's little brother?"

Momoshiro swung the boy up onto his shoulders, making him squeal with delight. "Watch where you're swinging that thing, brat."

Then they were gone, and he and Shuusuke were alone again. It might have been his imagination, but his brother seemed quieter than before. Wordlessly, he turned and began walking again. Yuuta had to jog to catch up, his own mind preoccupied. For some reason, he couldn't stop thinking of the punch to the gut he'd felt watching Momoshiro with his kid brother. Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer. He froze in the middle of the walkway.

"Aniki," he said.

Shuusuke turned, surprised. "Yes?"

Yuuta looked at the tiles beneath his feet, heat rising to his face. "I just wanted to say, you're not a chore. I don't mind doing errands with you."

There was a pause, and this time is his brother smiled. "Ah, I'm glad, Yuuta. Shall we get started?"

They spent the rest of the afternoon going from store to store, stretching out the hours before they would have to part ways, since Yuuta was expected to return to the St. Rudoph dormitory tonight. Somewhere along the way, Yuuta's self-consciousness faded and he relaxed. Their past wasn't perfect, and things might never be like they once were, but maybe the good times didn't have to be over. Even if he was too old to hold Shuusuke's hand, he could still have his big brother in his life.

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on _Tokyo Preliminary – St. Rudolph Arc_ episodes starting with (29), and _PairPuri #2_. Sibling relationships are complicated, and I really felt for Yuuta and Fuji. Momoshiro's siblings, by contrast, don't have any meaningful screen time, but I bet he's an awesome big brother. After all, as we saw in (72) _Kaoru Becomes Ryoma_, even the neighborhood kids call him Momo-nii-chan.


	5. Interest

**Interest**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Atobe, Oshitari  
Summary: Atobe isn't impressed by Momoshiro at first glance, but time reveals some unexpected characteristics.

* * *

The first time Atobe saw him, it was through the gaps of a chain link fence when Seigaku was battling Gyokurin, and even then he only took notice of Momoshiro because he was on his knees beside the freshmen rookie who had aroused everyone's interest. The punitive pose suggested the two had lost, but the scoreboard stated otherwise.

'_Curious_,' Atobe thought, and then he passed the court and forgot all about it.

Their second meeting was hardly more favorable. Momoshiro seemed as common as they came. He had a flashy hairstyle, a brash personality, and a cocksure attitude: the only interesting thing about him was the eyes, which were a fierce, lively violet. Even so, Atobe expected their little skirmish to last less than a minute.

'_Pedestrian,_' Atobe thought, and then he made himself comfortable while Kabaji tore this mediocre pair apart.

Except it didn't happen that way. Momoshiro sent the ball hissing past Atobe's ear, spraying his back with the hiss of sand. He knew how heavy that shot was from the sound it made as it bounced, yet the aim had been intentional, meant to _just_ miss him. It had been a challenge, and not many had the audacity to challenge Atobe Keigo.

'_Foolhardy_,' Atobe thought as Kabaji returned the shot directly into Momoshiro's body.

Momoshiro fell, but not before turning his racket with reflexes Atobe could hardly believe, sending the ball arching back over onto their side of the net. Atobe had been so impressed he'd allowed Momoshiro to succeed in rescuing Tachibana's spirited sister. He'd taken his name, too, as a show of respect.

'_Unexpected,_' Atobe thought as he made his way down the steps from the street-tennis court.

Leading up to the Kanto Tournament, Atobe had plenty of time to reflect on Seigaku, including Momoshiro. He learned that the sophomore was an aggressive baseliner, best known for his impressive kill shot, a midair smash considered above junior high level. He was a relative novice to tournament play, however, and his reputation for being tenaciously offensive was actually disappointing.

'_Primitive_,' Atobe thought, writing Momoshiro off as unsophisticated, all strength and no subtlety.

The next time they met, Atobe didn't expect Momoshiro to be in doubles as the last minute replacement for half of the famed Golden Pair. He noticed that Momoshiro had caught Oshitari's eye, and wondered at the spark of interest. "So, you can play doubles after all, Momoshiro. When you told us you sucked, was that your plan?" It was unusual for Oshitari, who didn't usually engage in banter.

'_Puzzling_,' Atobe thought, crossing his arms. What was it that made Momoshiro stand out?

Atobe caught a glimpse at the critical moment, when Momoshiro slid into Oshitari's drop shot and seized control of the match. The next few movements were like choreography, and realization struck with stunning strength. Although he was still in chrysalis, Momoshiro was one of Atobe's own ilk. Those weren't lucky guesses. That was Insight.

Yet even setting up his opponent's shots wouldn't be enough. '_Naive_,' Atobe thought as Momoshiro flew through the air into Oshitari's waiting trap.

However, Atobe had been wrong to think of Momoshiro as boorish. He was smart. Smart enough to control the play several volleys ahead. Smart enough to know his opponent's mind. Smart enough to set his own trap. Atobe saw Oshitari's eyes fly open, far too late. Momoshiro let the ball pass to the waiting Kikumaru, ending the game with the sound of Seigaku's blustery cheer rising over the stunned silence of the Hyotei spectators.

'_Crafty_,' Atobe thought, feeling as though he were seeing the real Momoshiro for the first time.

After that, it was a waiting game. During a team shuffle at Seigaku's rundown forest retreat, Momoshiro's match with acrobatic Mukahi removed much of Atobe's doubt about the kind of player Momo would eventually become. It quickly became clear he had been toying with his opponent from the beginning, using him as a guinea pig. Watching from his comfortable chair, Atobe had dipped his chin in approval.

'_Closer_,' he thought, sifting the ice in his drink back and forth. But not yet.

They met Seigaku for the final time at Nationals, with Momoshiro at Singles 3. Atobe saw their resident stoic clenching his hand around the handle of his racket as he stepped onto the court. Rarely had he seen Oshitari so eager. He looked across at Momoshiro, who seemed calm, even tranquil, and a smiled negotiated with the edges of Atobe's mouth.

'_Awake_?' he thought, wondering if it had finally happened.

The very first breeze confirmed. Atobe watched the yellow ball shiver in the air, dropping onto the baseline on Oshitari's side of the court. Momoshiro showed all his teeth while the crowd murmured. Accident? Not likely, Atobe thought, but Oshitari wasn't called a genius for nothing. Seizing back momentum, he forced a mistake. All it took was a wild attempt to return, a moment of lost footing, and then there was a metallic sound as Momoshiro crashed into the fence face first.

'_Reckless_,' Atobe thought, gritting his teeth. Momo's teammates rushed to his side.

The blood was running freely down Momoshiro's face. Atobe could see it from where he sat on the bench. Worse still, he looked stunned; it took him two tries to take the racket Echizen offered him. When he walked slowly back onto the court, his expression was determined but pained. Atobe caught Oshitari's eye. A long, drawn-out match. That was the winning strategy.

'_Unfortunate_,' Atobe thought with a small measure of regret. He would have liked to see this play out at game level.

The rest of the match proved he needed to stop trying to predict the course of events in matches featuring Momoshiro Takashi. Somehow he had managed to break Atobe's cool, collected prodigy. He'd never seen Oshitari play like that. Combustion. That's what it was, and it had happened because of Momo. Had this always been beneath the sedate surface of Oshitari?

'_Catalytic,_' Atobe thought as the two blazed away at one another.

"I'm sorry," Oshitari told him after he had won, but not with real remorse. Atobe understood. This had been an important breakthrough for him, and as he'd said, one didn't get a chance to face a guy like Momoshiro often.

Which is why he had nodded graciously. "It's alright. I'm not sure I could have kept my cool either." It was a great compliment. He wondered if someone like Momoshiro would be sensible to it.

Probably not.

Still, as they were preparing to depart, defeated but not demolished, Atobe had decided to take a detour. He caught the sophomore alone at a vending machine, where he was fishing out two sweating Ponta, both dripping with condensation in the heat of the day.

"Momoshiro," Atobe said.

Straightening, Momo blinked. "Atobe-san. I thought you guys left already. Did you forget something?"

There was something about the way Momoshiro spoke to him that Atobe found curious. He tried to think of what it was. As Momo put his hand behind his head, scratching, Atobe realized. It was that he treated him like an upperclassman of his own school rather than as a rival. Strongly amused, Atobe thought, '_Do you think of me as your senpai_, _Momoshiro?'_

It gave him the impetus to speak with directness. "Today, I was impressed."

Momoshiro seemed stunned. "Impressed?"

"Yes," Atobe admitted. "You've always managed to surprise me."

"Ano," the sophomore was doing that thing again, where he scratched his head and looked confused.

'_Wily_,' Atobe thought with affection, but he wasn't about to be fooled again. "Once you've finally stopped playing around, I'll be looking forward to facing you, Momoshiro Takashi."

That, at least, had a predictable effect. "Of course, Atobe-san," Momoshiro said, eyes laughing. He gave the senior a sly look. "There are a few things I've been meaning to ask you about that _Koori no Sekai_ of yours."

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on episode (22) _Kaoru's Troubles_, wherein Momoshiro first manages to impress Atobe, and OVA (9) _Heart Not Giving In_, which is about my favorite match in the series. Atobe and Momoshiro may not seem to have a lot in common, but it's interesting to think about the fact that both use a kind of insight, and although this is playing off tiny moments rather than sticking strictly to cannon, I'd like to pretend Atobe could be a kind of mentor to Momo in some capacity.


	6. Patience

**Patience**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Tezuka  
Summary: Tezuka loses his patience and makes Momoshiro run many, many laps.

* * *

Tezuka stood thoughtfully with his arms crossed, watching Momoshiro run laps. The captain had uncharacteristically lost his cool with the aggressive sophomore that day during practice. He regretted the wounded look when he'd called him a fool, a blockhead with more brawn than brain. His raised voice on top of his unusual lack of control had made for a harsher rebuke than warranted.

He blamed Momoshiro. If he didn't tease Tezuka with flashes of brilliance, the tantalizing hints of a keen intelligence, well, maybe days like today wouldn't frustrate him so much. He saw potential in Momoshiro, so much so that it vexed him to watch him always fall back on his strength. Smashes and power and no strategy. And while Tezuka was legendary for his patience, even he had limits.

Momoshiro was sweating heavily by now. He'd already run close to fifty laps so far, and he'd stopped looking up in hopes of a halt somewhere after twenty-five. Tezuka's eyes followed him around the grounds yet again. He thought: maybe a few more.

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on episode (40) _A Duel on the Rain, _in which Tezuka more-or-less affectionately refers to Momoshiro as Seigaku's number one rascal, then demolishes him in a match and scathingly rebukes him for favoring his formerly injured ankle. Classic tough-love Tezuka.


	7. Confusion

**Confusion**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Kaidoh  
Summary: When Momoshiro, the boy who wanted to be loved by everyone, first encounters his future rival, he can't figure out why Kaidoh only wants to fight.

* * *

The first time it happened, Momoshiro Takashi, the boy who wanted to be loved by everyone, was blatantly confused. He looked at the yellow bandana being thrust in his face and then at the person holding it. "Huh?"

"You," said the other boy. "You're the one who got it dirty."

That was true. Momoshiro had been changing when he saw the familiar bandana under his foot. He'd recognized it because its owner, a freshman named Kaidoh, wore the same one every day. He didn't really get Kaidoh. He was one of those people who always seemed aggravated, which wasn't Momo's style at all. Still, he'd picked up the handkerchief and put it back in Kaidoh's locker without thinking any more about it. Until now.

Well, since he'd done it, he'd better say sorry. Putting a hand on the back of his neck, Momo said, "Ah, my bad, Kaidoh."

To his bewilderment, his friendly gesture only caused Kaidoh to bristle with rage. "Don't you even have the decency to apologize properly?"

Hadn't he just apologized? What was Kaidoh getting all upset about anyway? It was just a stinky bandana. "Gee, Kaidoh. Don't be mad. It's no big deal."

To his surprise, he found the front of his shirt being grabbed. Teeth gritted, the other boy got right in Momoshiro's face. "No big deal?"

Instinct made Momo's own hands come up, and his blood was suddenly pounding in preparation for a fight. His temperature spiked, adrenaline pulsed through him. Still, he held back, unsure. He wasn't used to confrontation. He liked everyone, and everyone liked him. So what was this guy's problem?

"What's wrong with you?" he demanded.

Unrelenting, Kaidoh's grip only became fiercer. "I said apologize already!"

"I _have_ apologized, you jerk."

"Do you think everything is a game? That stupid grin on your face all the time is obnoxious!"

Genuinely affronted, Momoshiro retaliated with unusual furor. "You're one to talk about stupid faces, Kaidoh, with that weird snake thing you do."

It was at that point that their quarrel had been interrupted by two upper classmen, Seigaku regular Oishi and another second year, Inui Sadaharu. However, by that time, they were so embroiled in their fight that Momo had gone right on grappling with Kaidoh until they knocked Oishi into a locker and a basket of balls fell over his head. Several dozen punitive sprints later, Momoshiro grimly untied the tire harness form his sore stomach and refused to return the glare he felt on his back. Let Kaidoh stew all he wanted. He'd gotten Momoshiro in trouble with their senpai, and that could not happen again. Momo was done with him.

At least that was the plan, but it was as if the asshole was stalking him. Every time he picked up his racket or was assigned to gather balls, Kaidoh was there challenging him. One hundred, two hundred, three hundred swings weren't enough. It got so bad that they were having to run laps every day for fighting.

Finally, in total frustration, Momoshiro slammed down his belongings in the clubroom, where Oishi saw him. "You shouldn't mistreat your racket that way," he rebuked, but kindly, because Oishi-senpai was always kind. "Is something bothering you?"

Collapsing onto the bench, Momo stuck out his chin and tried to get his emotions under control. He felt embarrassingly close to another outburst. Finally, he let out a long exhale and put his elbows on his knees. "Kaidoh hates me, and it's driving me crazy."

Oishi sat down beside him. "I've noticed you two can't seem to get along."

"I don't get it," Momoshiro said, the familiar dissatisfaction welling up again. "I've tried being nice, but he won't let me. He always wants to fight. I _try_ to ignore him, but I can't do that either!"

"You know, I think you might be misunderstanding Kaidoh's intentions," Oishi said. "Most of the time, we don't compete with people we have no respect for."

"Respect?" Momo asked, puzzled.

The older boy nodded. "Eiji and I were like that at first. We butted heads, but it wasn't because we hated either other. Maybe Kaidoh thinks of you as a rival. Someone he'd like to surpass."

Momoshiro knew he was good at tennis. He was already feeling out his own style and enjoyed the rush of competition. That, combined with natural talent, usually made it possible for him to beat players much older than him. However, he hadn't yet encountered the kind of opponent that made tennis feel like a battle. He scratched his head. "Rival?"

Oishi mussed his hair. "Don't worry so much, Momo. I'm sure you and Kaidoh will work out your differences eventually."

Oishi hadn't been right about that, but something did happen the next day that changed everything. Perhaps it was a word whispered in the right ear, but Momoshiro found himself staring across the net at Kaidoh Kaoru, who had on a face like murder. Momo had seen him play, and knew that he had a forehand shot called the Snake. Fairly dramatic, if you asked him. It couldn't be that good.

They set up, and Momoshiro started with his usual aggressive style. Kaidoh returned every shot. Impressed, Momo continued the volley, certain he'd find his opportunity eventually, and that's when it happened. He hit a shot to the far left, and suddenly Kaidoh was shifting strangely. His racket struck, and the ball made an arc that crossed the entire court and skipped right by Momoshiro's feet. Snake!

Momoshiro stared at the yellow ball, which rolled across ground. He hadn't even been able to move, he'd been so surprised. He looked up at Kaidoh, whose arm was still raised, and Momo's heart started to beat harder. Something. Something about seeing that shot...

Slowly, he went back to his starting position, bending his knees, his grip on his racket tightening. He'd always enjoyed tennis, but now there was something hot thrumming in his veins, something that made him – for the very first time – deadly serious. He met Kaidoh's glare, feeling the burn as they clashed, and responded to it wholeheartedly for the first time.

Rivals? Well, fine. Because there was no way he was going to let that bastard get away with an amazing shot like that. He would see how Kaidoh felt about a dunk smash right in his face.

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on the flashbacks in episodes (29) _Momo and Viper_ and (167) _Eternal Rivals_. The series gave us the opportunity to see the beginning of this famous rivalry from Kaidoh's perspective, but what about Momo? For a self-professed "nice guy", it had to be bewildering to encounter someone like Kaidoh. So when did it first click?


	8. Disrespect

**Disrespect**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Ryoma, Nanjiro  
Summary: Momoshiro meets Ryoma's father officially, but only after mistaking him for a pervert.

* * *

Despite their growing closeness, there were some things that Momoshiro didn't really understand about Echizen. How he managed to be so proud, for one thing, in spite of being such a squirt. He'd never known anyone more likely to pick a fight, at least when it came to tennis. His stubbornness and rude behavior was a mystery, right up until the day that it wasn't, and shockingly that revelation came with an invitation to dinner.

"Huh," Momoshiro said, peering around the large common area which lead out onto a porch, beyond which he could see a traditional Japanese-style garden. He leaned back against the tatami mat he was sitting on. "Your house is so old-fashioned."

Echizen was wearing his usual expression, which was a cross between annoyance and dismissal. He deigned to comment, "Of course it's old-fashioned. After all, my family does help maintain the temple. The one up there."

He pointed, and Momo could just see the walls and slopping rooftops of a Buddhist temple on a summit over the neighboring houses. The faint peal of the evening bell was just now fading. "The temple, huh? I thought you were kidding when you said you worked there, sometimes."

"No," Echizen answered. He was picking at a loose string on his socks.

Momoshiro was just about to make a comment about Echizen ending up a bald monk, when footsteps outside caught his attention. It was at that moment that a man wearing a black robe rounded the corner, industriously picking at something in his ear. The intruder looked up lazily as he reached the door, and Momoshiro's mouth fell open in recognition.

"Echizen! What is that perverted monk doing in your house?"

A brief moment of silence followed his declaration, and then an astonishing thing happened. Quietly at first, and then so hard that he had to hold his stomach, Echizen started laughing. Momoshiro hadn't even known he knew _how _to laugh, yet here he was, doubled over.

The man in the doorway looked cross. "I see you brought that mouthy punk home with you."

Offended, Momoshiro demanded, "What's it to you? I was invited."

"Oh?" the man sneered. "Well, this is _my_ house, and I'm _uninviting_ you."

"Your house?" Momo asked incredulously. "Who are you, Echizen's grandpa?"

The man's eyes bulged even as Echizen's laugher rose another key. "What do you mean, 'grandpa'?"

Further confrontation was averted by the sudden arrival of Nanako, who poked her head around the corner from the kitchen, a smile on her face. "Ryoma, what's going on? I never hear you sound so happy. Oh, Takeshi-kun! Are you staying for dinner?"

"No, he is not," said the man in the black robe.

"Uncle," chided the girl. "Don't be so impolite to Ryoma's little friend. I'll just go prepare another portion."

She disappeared just as she had come, leaving Momoshiro and the interloper to glare at each other. Echizen had recovered, although he was still wearing a smile that was just a little too smug for comfort. "Momo-senpai," he said. "I know he doesn't look like much, but this is my father, Echizen Nanjiro."

Nanjiro had tucked his hands into his sleeves and was pointedly starring off to the side. "Che, _that's_ your introduction? What the hell happened to make this generation so disrespectful?"

Momoshiro had heard a lot about Echizen Nanjiro, a legendary tennis player who went into early retirement just before he achieved a Grand Slam title. He also knew that his friend's tennis style was based on his father's. Looking at this scruffy, slouching guy, Momo felt let down. It must have shown on his face, too, because Nanjiro's theatrical moodiness took a serious turn, his eyes gaining sudden sharp edges.

"You doubt me, punk?"

Momoshiro couldn't help it. He grinned. After all, that whetted, reptilian look was one he recognized. Momo reclined backwards, relaxing. "You willing to prove it, old man?"

"You –" Nanjiro began, eye twitching. "I hope you're man enough to have brought a racket, because I'm going to enjoy bringing your cocky ass down a notch."

Momoshiro rubbed his hands together, already getting pumped; however, before he could accept, Echizen interrupted. "No way, Momo-senpai," he said. "You promised you'd watch that movie with me tonight. In English."

Disappointed, Momoshiro appealed, "Come on, Echizen. A tennis match with your dad sounds like fun."

Nanjiro looked equally unhappy. His hands dangled, and his face had gone slack with surprise. Maybe it was a shock that Echizen had turned down a tennis-related activity. That _was_ pretty rare. It must be a great video, even if he would have to read the subtitles.

"Boy, don't interfere," Echizen's father stammered, but he was staring into the face of his equal for stubbornness.

Echizen crossed his arms. "No."

Well, there wasn't any use arguing in that case. Momoshiro sighed. "Sorry, old man," he said. "Maybe next time?"

Nanjiro harrumphed. "Don't presume there'll be a next time. Arrogant brat. How did my son get such bad taste in friends?"

He continued grumbling all the way around the corner and out of sight, until they heard the thump of a body hitting wooden panels. Apparently, the man had decided to lounge outside until dinner. Momoshiro didn't realize he was chuckling until Echizen prodded him in the side with one of his boney fingers.

"Ouch, Echizen. What do you want?"

"What are you laughing about?" his friend asked. He was pouting already, which meant provoking him wasn't exactly smart. After all, Momoshiro _did_ want to eat tonight, and he'd already been uninvited once. Still, never let it be said that Momoshiro Takeshi wasn't truthful.

He grinned. "I just figured out where you get your stunning personality."

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on episodes (10) _Counterattack! Sasabe Again_ and (24) _Ryoma's Day Off, _wherein Momoshiro and Nanjiro butt heads over bicycles and bond over Ryoma.


	9. Love

**Love**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Tachibana, An  
Summary: Tachibana experiences the suffering of all big brothers when An decides to bring a boy home with her.

* * *

Tachibana wasn't aware that his sister had set her sights on a boy until the day she brought him home with her. His bedroom window was propped open that day, and the breeze carried An's cheerful, piping voice. He leaned out to greet her, and that was when he saw she wasn't alone. Ambling at her side was a lanky boy in a yellow t-shirt, in fact a figure that Tachibana knew well. It was Seigaku regular Momoshiro Takeshi.

For a moment, Tachibana wondered what Momoshiro was doing with An, but he quickly worked out that he must have offered to walk her home from the street-tennis court. It was just the kind of gesture he expected of a chivalrous guy like Momoshiro, and Tachibana was about to pull his head back inside, when he saw his sister reach out her hand and twist their fingers together.

Momoshiro, who had up to that point appeared relaxed and casual, suddenly stiffened, but An took no notice except to swing their arms a little as they walked the last few steps to the gate. Once there, An shifted her weight back and forth on her toes, then waved and called, "Bye bye!"

Tachibana continued to watch Momoshiro after he heard the door shut. The boy looked down at his upturned palm, the same he used everyday to hold his racket for those ridiculously powerful smashes. Finally, with one last glance at the house, he left. Tachibana watched him until he heard footsteps on the stairs.

"Onii-chan, are you spying?"

"Your boyfriend seemed a little bewildered," Tachibana responded, turning from the window.

An put her fingers over her mouth to cover a giggle. "Would you believe that he's secretly shy?"

Tachibana had seen the color he'd turned when An threaded their fingers together all the way from here. Even so, _shy_ wasn't exactly a word he would have chosen. What Tachibana did know was that Momoshiro was a good person, the kind who stood up for those weaker than him. This probably meant he could be trusted with his sister.

Still. "Did it have to be one of them?"

"Them?" An queried, pressing one small finger on her glossy lip, though she knew perfectly well what he meant.

Tachibana had made peace with his team's defeat at the hands of Seigaku's formidable tennis club, but even if he had come to realize that their meteoric rise was like the tail of a comet, a rare cosmic event which couldn't be stopped, that didn't mean he was ready for his sister to date one of them. He gave An a pointed look.

"What, you don't like Momoshiro-kun?"

Tachibana made an exasperated noise, knowing just how little his opinion counted. An was a stubborn girl; once she made up her mind about something, that was it. Which begged the question.

"Why him?"

An smiled, but not the cheeky one from before. It was softer around the edges of her mouth, and her eyes seemed to reach beyond the room they were both standing in. She looked down the road where Momo had disappeared, staring at his hand.

"I think it was when he faced Atobe, that night at the street-tennis court."

Tachibana frowned. He'd heard about that from Kamio, and it had taken all his restraint to keep from going after that bastard for daring to put a hand on his sister.

An adjusted one of her barrettes bashfully. "He touched my hair, but not in a gentle way. And then he kept calling me 'Tachibana's little sister', even after I gave him my cute first name to use."

"You liked him because he wasn't interested in you?" Tachibana asked in confusion.

An's eyes twinkled. "Maybe a little. But mostly it was how he played tennis. He seems so laidback, but something comes out when he's on the court. He's passionate, and he doesn't hold back anything. It makes me happy just watching him."

Tachibana considered. "You...like his tennis style."

An giggled again. "It doesn't hurt that he's really handsome, don't you think, Onii-chan?"

Wearing the grimace of put-upon big brothers everywhere, Tachibana raised his hands as though to ward off the mental image of his sister being in any way physically attracted to a boy. He was actually starting to feel a little nauseated. "Don't talk about that," he said, a shade darker than his usual complexion.

An ignored him, pondering aloud. "Next time he walks me home, I should stand on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek. Maybe he'll turn even redder than before."

Or maybe he would have his act together enough to kiss her back. That look on his face as he walked away... Uncomfortable, Tachibana swallowed. He looked at his little sister, who was no longer just an inconvenient brat who followed him around, holding onto the edge of his tennis racket. She was a young woman.

And she had chosen Momoshiro Takeshi, heaven help him.

"If he ever hurts you, I'll kill him," he said seriously, because wasn't that what all brothers were supposed to say?

An actually laughed at him. "Oh, Onii-chan," she said. "You should be more worried about poor Momoshiro-kun."

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on episode (22) _Kaoru's Troubles _and (71) _It's a Date!_ An Tachibana really grew on me; she and Momoshiro have an entertaining dynamic which is only enhanced by poor Kamio's hysterics. An is right, by the way; when a girl says it's a date, then it's a date. There is no use resisting.


	10. Sympathy

**Sympathy**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Kaidoh  
Summary: Kaidoh is abducted by his double's partner. They eat ice-cream (like barbarians), and Kaidoh comes to some conclusions about why their combination works.

* * *

They'd almost timed out the harsh overhead lights illuminating the public tennis court. The net sagged, casting shadows, and there were links missing from the fence, but the shabby grounds were far from the prying eyes of strangers. Over the past few weeks, since before their match with Rikkaidai, it had become a reclusive getaway to a very strange pair.

Kaidoh walked off the court and reached for his water bottle. He sunk onto the wall and watched his companion gather balls, nattering something about there never being freshmen around when they were needed. Finally, Momoshiro reached for a towel, which he used to scrub his sweaty face.

"What a good work out!" he exclaimed. "You're getting faster, Mamushi."

Kaidoh curled his lip upon hearing that stupid moniker, but found that he was too relaxed to fight. At least not over that. "_You_ still use your racket like a caveman."

"Too mean, Kaidoh," Momoshiro protested, but his tone was light. He stretched, grunting with the strain. "I'm going to sleep good tonight."

"It is pretty late," Kaidoh commented, casting his eyes up at the purple sky, which was darkening even as they spoke. The sun had long since gone down, but now the true night was setting in. It must be close to nine o'clock.

Momo looked up, too. "I have to get back. My parents are going out tonight."

"So?"

The moron laughed, packing the last of his belongings. "Don't you ever babysit, Kaidoh?"

The answer, of course, was yes, although it had been some time since Hazue needed direct supervision. Rather than answer, Kaidoh stood and put his racket away, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Ja."

He expected Momoshiro to give a jaunty wave and disappear beyond the fence, but instead his expression turned contemplative. Kaidoh headed for the exit, but Momo grabbed him before he could get very far. "Oye, Kaidoh, " he said. "It's not so late. Why don't you come over?"

Kaidoh was flummoxed by the invitation, and it must have shown on his face. Certainly his frozen vocal cords betrayed him, for they refused to stammer out anything more helpful than, "W-what?"

Momoshiro had a stupid grin plastered all over his face. "We could watch a movie, or play a video game."

There was an odd sensation, a single moment in which Kaidoh felt a strange tug in his gut, and the offer sounded almost...good. Then, in an instant, his mind cleared, and he shoved Momoshiro back. "Idiot! We're not friends."

Momoshiro frowned, though he barely hesitated before arguing, "That doesn't mean we can't hang out. Don't be so stubborn, Mamushi. I'll feed you!"

"Stop calling me that," Kaidoh demanded. He took new grip on his shoulder strap. "Feh. You'd probably offer me some microwaved junk food. I won't eat it."

"Picky! I said I'd feed you. Just be grateful."

"I'm going home," Kaidoh said, and turned to go.

He didn't take three steps. Momo had a vise grip when he wanted to. "That's the spirit. Home we go!" And then he proceeded to drag his protesting teammate off the court and out onto the road just as the overhead lights snapped off.

* * *

"Tadaima!" Momoshiro's noisy greeting echoed in the entry way as the two discarded their shoes and equipment, Kaidoh still bristling. He had the most mortifying habit of blushing in awkward situations, and he was dreading every aspect of this visit. If the heavens were merciful, maybe he could slip away now before anyone else...

The sound of small feet pounded against the panels of the hallway, and then two dark-headed children barreled into the entryway, barely stopping at the edge of the step.

"Nii-chan, you're late! Mama is gone already, and she said you're in charge –"

The one who had been speaking stopped mid-sentence when he saw there was a second person poised inside their door. "Sorry, sorry," Momo was saying. "We got caught up and forgot what time it was. But look who decided to come over!"

The implication jolted Kaidoh from muteness. "As if I really decided anything," he grumbled, then glanced again at the children, who were staring at him.

The little girl edged toward Momo. "Scary," she murmured, and Momoshiro laughed at Kaidoh's affronted expression.

"Mamushi?" he said. "Don't worry about his grumpy face; he won't hurt you. Kaidoh is your big brother's teammate."

The looks were more curious now, especially from the boy. "You're Kaidoh? Onii-chan talks about you all the time."

It was slightly gratifying to know his rival talked about him, but Kaidoh still didn't know what to say. Fortunately, Momo saved him the trouble. "This is my little brother and sister, Sato and Narumi. Say hello, brats."

Obediently, the two bowed, belting out a greeting. "Yoroshiku!"

Kaidoh ducked his head awkwardly. "Ah."

"Kaidoh is going to stay over for awhile, so why don't you show him were the bath is, Sato, and I'll get us something to eat."

"Wait," Kaidoh started to protest. "I'm not staying that long –"

However, a tug on his shirt stopped him. Sato gestured. "This way."

Momoshiro's house was more modern than Kaidoh's, but the it still had the traditional bathing area in the back, complete with a steaming, covered ofuro. Sato pointed. "There are the towels. We didn't know there was going to be a guest, so we already took our bath. Sorry."

Kaidoh could see that it was true by the cotton pajamas he was wearing and his slightly damp hair. It was longish and fell over his forehead, and Kaidoh wondered if he styled it like his brother. He murmured, "Thanks," and the kid took off into the house, hollering about snacks.

"Che," Kaidoh said, turning toward the tap. That, at least, must be a family trait.

By the time he got to the kitchen, clean now and wearing sweats and a t-shirt that had appeared mysteriously outside of the bathroom, he found Momoshiro and his siblings at the table. "Hey, Mamushi," Momo greeted, slamming down a bowl of cream stew. "You keep an eye on the brats, alright? I'll just take a minute to wash up."

Kaidoh froze, but finally resigned himself and pulled out a chair. He gave the meal a dubious look, certain it came out of a package, but decided to give that up, too, and lifted the spoon with a sigh.

Momoshiro's brother, meanwhile, took this opportunity to lean in, resting on his forearms so he could peer up at Kaidoh in closer proximity. Out of nowhere, he asked, "Where's your bandana?"

"I didn't bring an extra," Kaidoh answered, too surprised to contemplate evasion. "Will you pass a cup?"

Sato wasn't entirely without manners, it seemed, for not only did he produce a cup, but he also filled it. Kaidoh felt the hot pulses through the ceramic on the pads of his fingers and inhaled the fragrant scent. It calmed him. That is, until he looked across the table and found the girl chewing on a ribbon of her pajamas, eyes glued to him.

"Ano," he started.

"Why does Onii-chan call you 'mamushi'. Do you like snakes?"

Sato snorted. "It's cause of his tennis, dummy. His forehand shot is called a snake."

Surprised that they knew even that much about him, Kaidoh let out a puzzled, "Pshuu."

The little girl giggled. "He hisses."

"How come you never came over before?" Sato continued, without pause. "I thought I met all Onii-chan's friends."

"That idiot is not my friend!" Kaidoh barked without thinking, then realized such a vehement rejection of their brother might not be in good taste in front of Momo's younger siblings. Falteringly, he made an awkward attempt to correct himself, absolutely, infuriatingly certain that he was blushing. "What I mean is, ah, we're...teammates."

Sato made a fist, as though holding a tennis racket. "Onii-chan teaches me tennis," he said, and then mimicked Momo's signature move, complete with sound effect. "Don! He said you're really good."

As before, Kaidoh was surprised by the implication that Momoshiro spoke about him to his family, especially in a way that was complimentary. "He did?"

"Yeah," Sato said, scratching his head. "He was kind of angry about it, though."

That nearly brought a leer to Kaidoh's face, but he suppressed it. "Does he say anything else about tennis?"

"Oh, loads," said Sato.

Narumi agreed. "Onii-chan really, really loves tennis."

And wasn't that the truth? Their devotion to the game was one of the few things Kaidoh had in common with Momoshiro, and on the tennis court it was usually enough. A lot of spectators were bewildered by their belligerent, abusive comments to one another, but they didn't really understand. That was how they worked, and by now Kaidoh was comfortable with the fighting. It was only in this weird setting that he wasn't sure of himself. What the hell was he doing here?

Momoshiro's loud mouth interrupted his thoughts. "I'm back! Oh? Don't you like the stew?"

Kaidoh had been so on edge that he'd let the food go mostly neglected, but he _was_ hungry, so he took a small bite. It was…as expected. "This came from a conbini," he accused.

"So what if it did? You shouldn't be so uptight, Kaidoh," Momoshiro said, and the little voices of his siblings chorused after him. "You shouldn't!"

Kaidoh made a dramatic face of disgust hearing that speech pattern. "It's a sadder world than I thought, when there are two more of you," he said.

Momoshiro, that bastard, actually had the nerve to laugh.

* * *

While Kaidoh reluctantly finished eating, Momoshiro chased his siblings around the house, harassing them to brush their teeth, to stop jumping around, to get in bed. Finally, the house quieted and Momo reappeared. "They're such brats. Never listening to their big brother."

If Momoshiro allowed the same liberties to his siblings as he did to the freshmen, then that wasn't any surprise. Momo-chan-senpai, indeed. Didn't he know that hierarchies were in place for a reason?

"You're looking sour again, Kaidoh. If you're done, why don't you come upstairs?"

Kaidoh was surprised when, after tiptoeing past the futons of Momo's two sleeping siblings, they ended up climbing out of the window and onto the roof. It was cloudy, and there weren't any stars, but it was still a pleasant night, and the high, high ceiling of the sky was a deep, multicolored black and blue. Momoshiro almost killed himself as they made their way up, but caught himself at the last moment.

"If you have enough balance to use a jackknife, shouldn't you be able to walk across a slanted surface without disgracing yourself?" Kaidoh disparaged, refusing to acknowledge how hard his heart had been beating when he saw Momo fall.

"There was a loose tile!" the other protested. Nonetheless, he sat down, declaring, "This is good."

Reluctantly, Kaidoh joined him, stretching his legs out and leaning back. The warm breeze stirred his hair, drying it in messy wisps, and he smoothed it in irritation, wishing he'd had an extra bandana in his bag. He would have to plan for hijacking in the future.

A container of ice cream was suddenly shoved into his arms, followed by a spoon, and Momoshiro laughed at his visible discomfort. "Haven't you ever eaten straight out of the carton? You really _are_ uptight."

"And so?" Kaidoh hissed, drawing up to a fuller height.

But though he challenged, Momoshiro seemed unwilling to be provoked. Instead he smiled, a real, true, easy smile rather than his usual cocky one. "_So,_" he returned pointedly, "you should chill out. You'll give yourself high blood pressure."

Squinting at him through the darkness, Kaidoh's scowl mostly evaporated, transforming instead into an annoyed, oddly vulnerable expression. His mother called it his 'Kaoru-chan' expression, and the silent treatment he punished her with whenever she used it was petulant enough to justify it. Upon reflection, that nickname was probably better than 'Mamushi', though if Momoshiro ever tried calling him 'Kaoru-chan', he'd probably kill him.

Meanwhile, Momo was making short work of his own treat, though he slowed down when a particularly hardy spoonful gave him a sudden headache, causing him to grip his forehead and whimper.

"Moron," Kaidoh murmured, taking another bite. It was green tea flavored and oddly not terrible, even if they were eating it in such an uncivilized way.

"Ow, ow, ow," Momo continued to whine. "Really, Kaidoh, you would mock someone when they're wounded?"

"You're not wounded. You're an idiot."

"Mean! After everything, you'd think you would be a little more sympathetic."

Kaidoh swallowed suddenly. "What do you mean, everything?"

"The finals, doubles, everything!" Momoshiro was suddenly grinning again. Didn't he have any other expressions? To Kaidoh, he said, "We've come a long way from the days when we tried to strangle each other, don't you think?"

Kaidoh found himself reliving those memories. That first time he'd seen Momoshiro play and had decided they would be rivals. Their first year of furious competition and many, many laps run for 'confrontation on the court'. Innumerable matches, punches, tantrums, and then their first time as a doubles team, which had so nearly been a disaster. Of realizing they made a decent pair, and how infuriating that was. How it had felt when Tezuka and Oishi stated their intention to make them doubles partners again against the champion Rikkaidai team. A match they had ultimately lost, but which had seemed more like a victory. Kaidoh could not think of one single time he had enjoyed playing tennis more.

And he had done it with this dumbass, who was _still_ grinning at him in that familiar way.

The confusion and irritation reached their boiling point, and Kaidoh erupted. "Stop acting like we're best buddies. We're just –"

"Teammates. Yeah, I know, Kaidoh," Momoshiro said, and yet the light had gone out of his eyes. He kicked at the tiles. "Don't you think that's enough?"

Kaidoh stared. He wondered what was it about the idea of friendship that upset him so much. It wasn't as though he had many friends. It was true there was Inui, but their relationship was more based on professional interest. In contrast, it was questionable whether Momoshiro had a professional bone in his whole body. Serious, he could be, when it came to tennis. But professional? He was about as far from Inui-senpai's clinical tennis style as it was possible to be.

So where did that leave them? It was clear that they were no longer enemies, and Kaidoh could even agree that they had become more than just rivals. So what was it that was holding him back? What was it that rubbed him the wrong way so much that he could barely even think straight when they were together?

Momoshiro put his hand behind his head and laughed. "Sorry, Mamushi. I didn't mean for things to get so serious. Why don't we just go inside and –"

"Stop," Kaidoh said, because that was it, right there. That deliberate turn from sobriety that made Momoshiro come over so easy-going and empty-headed. It was a personality quirk that made him approachable to many, but Kaidoh was disgusted. "You don't have to do that."

"What?" Momo seemed surprised.

Kaidoh growled. "Stop acting stupid in front of me, like I don't know what you're doing." Momoshiro was looking at him steadily, and for once there wasn't even a trace of humor. Rather, a question hovered there, which Kaidoh answered begrudgingly. "You don't have to try so hard. It's obnoxious." And, more quietly, "Everyone already likes you."

Openly bewildered, Momoshiro's eyes went wide. Then his expression closed, and he looked even more solemn than before. "It's easier."

In something between a snort and a hiss, Kaidoh threw back, "Infant. Are you always going to take the easier way? Is it tougher to face up to people without that moron façade to protect you? Tougher to face you failures?"

"Kaidoh –"

Angry, he lowered his voice. "Nobody's fooled." What he meant was, _'I'm not fooled.'_

High tension reigned between them as the words that had been said bounced back and forth and all that had happened was taken into account. Finally, though, Momoshiro collapsed back onto the roof and gave out a huffing kind of sound. "You're as sharp-tongued as ever, Kaidoh. You never let me get away with anything."

"Would you rather I did?" he answered, even though he already knew the answer.

"Hm, well, if we're all about confronting ourselves tonight, then I think it's your turn."

"I ate the ice cream, didn't I?" Kaidoh asked. "With a wooden spoon."

Laughter, and in spite of what he'd said about wishing Momoshiro would be more serious, it was a sound that suited him much better than any sullen silence. "You did, didn't you? Hey, let's go watch a video. I borrowed _Lucky: The Tearful Reunion_ again."

"Lucky?" A small brown puppy, waterlogged and yelping with terror, came to his mind. "From the day Regionals started?"

"Yeah! I bet it will make you cry."

Affronted, Kaidoh retorted, "I will not cry!"

"Of course you will. You'd have to be a cold-hearted bastard not to," Momoshiro said, but he was already picking his way down the roof, being more careful of his footing this time. He still slipped at almost the same place as before, but Kaidoh was waiting and grabbed him. Cheerfully, Momo said, "Whoops!"

"Would you even pay attention?" Kaidoh snarled, grunting. "I can't keep picking up your slack forever."

"You won't be so tough when we start the video."

"I said I won't cry, so I wont!"

Momoshiro shoved open the window, saying flippantly, "Don't get angry when people aren't trying to insult you, Mamushi."

"Mamushi, Mamushi. I told you not to call me that."

"Why not? It suits you. Stop being an idiot."

Kaidoh hissed. "Che. I should be the one saying that."

They went back inside and watched that ridiculous movie together, while in the back of his mind Kaidoh turned things over. Of how it felt to train with Momoshiro. Of rhythm and streetlamps and warm breezes. Even ice-cream and bad food and confrontations under a nighttime sky.

Kaidoh was sure of one thing. Whatever made them volatile companions in everyday life made them coordinated, well-matched partners on the tennis court. They challenged one another with their swelling skills, butted heads with raw ability. And, however different their outlets, they were well matched in uncomplicated passion for the game. When they played doubles, there were roles they played. Kaidoh played to win for himself. Momoshiro played to defeat his opponent. And then they switched. Like motivation, buzzing in different kinds of hearts.

Friends? Whatever the label you put on it, it worked for them. It worked, and Kaidoh wasn't so stubborn that he was going to keep fighting it. Even if it did mean he had to sit in the dark listening to Momoshiro sniffle while watching movies about lost puppies.

* * *

Author's Note:

Inspired by the doubles match beginning in episodes (116-117) _Seigaku vs. Champion Rikkaidai_. Seriously, we finally get to watch these two collaborate by choice, and when Momoshiro works so hard to cover for Kaidoh it's amazing. As a cultural note, I had the pleasure of teaching two boys on a real Japanese junior high tennis team who cheerfully informed me they were rivals. As I understand it, this implies fierce competition, but also a high level of esteem.


	11. Excitement

**Excitement**

Character(s): Tenipuri family  
Summary: Tezuka-jii-chan has had enough of his grandchildren's wild behavior. Unbeknownst to him, his attempt to reform them will have a long-term affect on the entire family.

* * *

"Sadaharu-san, are you sure this is a good idea," Shuuko wondered. Her mind was filled with shattered dishes, broken lamp stands, punctured sliding doors, and a dozen other possible targets for the items her father was currently pulling out of his bag.

Sadaharu was looking downcast, his knees slightly bent. "Possibility of permanent damage to the house: 98 percent." However, he seemed to have already resigned himself to the situation. There wasn't much chance of changing Tezuka-jii-chan's mind once he'd made it up.

He stated it now as the two rackets appeared in his hands, just as he had before: "Those two are out of control. Some discipline will do them good."

"Perhaps Ojii-san is right," said Fuji-baa-chan, wearing a deceptively tranquil smile. "They have been somewhat disruptive lately."

That was an understatement. Ryoma's homeroom teacher seemed to call every day with a new complaint, and Momoko was on probation for making one of the boys in her class cry. Yet very little Shuuko or Sadaharu had done helped. The most recent assault on Ojii-chan's beloved bonsai seemed the last straw. He had stalked out of the house, and now he was back with this new development.

Shuuko, however, was still unsure. "Aren't they a little young for tennis?"

"Nonsense," Tezuka grunted. "Momoko's just the right age, and Ryoma should have already started. Go ahead and call them."

Despite her misgivings, Shuuko went to get her children from their room. She wished it surprised her to find Ryoma sitting on his writhing baby brother while Momoko ticked his feet, but that would be giving them too much credit. She carried the weepy toddler back outside, while the two offenders marched in front of her.

Although Ryoma had been scowling, he stopped when he saw what his grandfather was holding. "Ojii, what's that?"

Tezuka held out two junior rackets, one yellow with black stripes and the other purple. "They're tennis rackets. You two are going to learn to do something productive, starting today. We've all had enough of your wild behavior."

Ryoma pouted, but it was clearly a token effort. His eyes were gleaming. "You're going to teach us?"

"Hm. If you deserve it," said Tezuka, and he held out the equipment. "Here."

Shuuko heard an eager hiss, and saw that Kaoru was squirming. He reached for his big brother, who was already swinging around his toy, delighting in the whistling sound it made as it swished through the air. "Now, now," she said, patting his bottom. "You're too little."

Kaoru looked devastated, but Fuji chuckled. "Poor Kaoru-chan. You can play with this for right now." She handed him a bright neon tennis ball, which he gasped in both hands. A bell tinkled as Kikumaru stretched at their feet, tail lashing. No doubt the two of them would soon be batting the ball back and forth across the yard, totally content.

That left Momoko. Surprised that she didn't hear her daughter's riotous voice, Shuuko saw that the little girl was gripping the edge of her dress and staring at her feet, uncharacteristically quiet. "Aren't you going to say thank you to Ojii-chan, Momoko?"

She took the racket that her grandfather handed her, but only moved it in a gentle arch back and forth. Frowning, she muttered, "I don't wanna learn tennis."

"Momoko," Shuusuke scolded. "What an impolite thing to say. Be a little more lady-like. Maybe if you did, you wouldn't get in so much trouble at school."

Her daughter stuck out her lip, stubbornness only enhanced by the band-aids on her face and elbows from yesterday's scuffle. She crossed her arms, the racket sticking out awkwardly.

"Why did you get into a fight again, Momoko?" asked Fuji-baa-chan.

The little girl muttered, "Arai-kun tried to hold my hand under the table, and I didn't like it, so I kicked him."

Shuuko sighed with exasperation while her mother chuckled. Momoko had never been a difficult child like Ryoma, who made enemies faster than friends and turned a disparaging eye on practically everything. However, though she wore her hair in braids and cuddled teddy bears, she had also arm wrestled every child in her class into submission, had the rudest way of talking, and was generally muddier, stickier, and louder than any little girl had a right to be. It wasn't just that she was a tomboy. Momoko had extraordinary spirit, but unfortunately most of that whirlwind energy went into following her brother into mischief and persecuting the boys in her class for daring to admire her.

"Kirihara tried to kiss her once," Ryoma chimed in, a mischievous glint in his eye. "She slugged him, right in the face. Pow! Then she tripped him into a stop sign. There was blood all over."

Momoko glared at her shoes as though expecting a reprimand, but Tezuka-jii-chan surprised them all by patting her head. "It's good you didn't let your guard down."

A smile broke out on Momoko's face. Hugging the racket to her chest, she said, "Thank you, Ojii-chan."

Ryoma, meanwhile, had reached the threshold of his very meager patience and began thrashing with renewed vigor, sending blades of grass in every direction. "Can we start now? Can we?"

"One more thing." Tezuka opened the shopping bag back up.

"Oh, you went all out, I see," Fuji said with approval.

Out of the bag came sweatbands and a new polo shirt for Ryoma, plus a visor and a cute spandex skirt. Momoko griped as she held up the pale pink material. "Why do I have to wear a skirt? It looks silly."

"You wear track shorts under it," Tezuka said gruffly. "Now quit complaining and go change."

As the children ran off with their new rackets and apparel, Sadaharu made one last attempt to mitigate the damage. "Are you sure they'll be able to keep the balls on the court and away from anything breakable?"

"Court?" Tezuka-jii-chan put his hands behind his back. "No hitting balls for weeks. They'll be swinging those rackets until they lose feeling in their arms. We'll see just how much trouble they can get into while they're running laps around the house."

As one, the remaining adults sweatdropped. However, as she watched Kaoru-chan happily push the tennis ball across the yard for Kikumaru to pounce on, Shuuko began to smile. She didn't know why, but intuitively she felt that something had shifted in the Seishun family today. Never before had she seen that look of keen interest on Ryoma's face, and if all went well, Momoko would finally have a suitable outlet for that aggressive nature of hers. Perhaps they would all benefit form a little tennis in their lives.

Mind made up, she asked, "Ojii-chan, where did you say you bought those rackets again?"

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on episodes (132) _The Zany Teni-Puri Family_ and (167) _The Teni-Puri Family Goes to Hawaii. _ For those of your who haven't seen them, these highly comedic episodes turn the Seigaku tennis club into a family, adjusting gender and age accordingly. Momoko is adorable, but she and Ryoma are truly terrible children. Also, Momo as a girl would certainly have suicidal little admirers. Definitely.

For those who haven't seen the episodes yet:  
Oishi – Shuuko (Mother)  
Inui – Sadaharu (Father)  
Tezuka – (Grandfather)  
Fuji – (Grandmother)  
Ryoma – (Male, third grade)  
Momoshiro – Momoko (Female, second grade)  
Kaidoh – Kaoru-chan (Male, toddler)  
Eiji – Kikumaru (Cat :D )

* * *

In my head, Ryoma grows up to become the same amazing tennis player from the regular series, while Momoko plays on the women's team and is best friends with An Tachibana. Arai has a huge crush on her, but Tezuka-jii-chan is really scary. Can you imagine Kaidoh as a little brother like Yuuta? Gee, I could speculate all day long. I only wish the glimpses we get of the other schools were a little more consistent in this universe.


	12. Hope

**Hope**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Kaidoh, Oishi, Ryuzak-sensei  
Summary: Ryuzaki-sensei has her doubts that Momoshiro and Kaidoh will be able to work together as team leaders. Oishi thinks it will work out in the end.

* * *

"Oye, idiot. Where did you put that training menu?"

Momoshiro looked up from where he was tying his shoe. "Training menu? The one for the freshmen?"

Kaidoh made a dismissive sound. "What other menu is there?"

"Why do you think I took it? You probably lost it somewhere. Don't blame me if you can't keep track of things."

Kaidoh's hackles rose immediately. "What do you mean, 'I lost it'? You were supposed to hold it until today's practice."

Frowning, Momo answered, "That's not how I remember it, Mamushi."

From a distance, Oishi stood with Ryuzaki-sensei and watched the two young men banter, a confrontation which abruptly devolved into a wrestling match when Momoshiro realized he'd been sitting on the notebook the whole time. The woman crossed her arms. "Maybe we made the wrong choice assigning them to drill the freshmen."

Oishi scratched the back of his neck. "They do have an unusual way of collaborating."

"You call that collaborating?" Ryuzaki-sensei snorted. She shook her head in disgust. "I don't know."

"_Quit trying to strangle me! We're going to be late getting started!"_

"_If we're late, it's your fault!"_

Sighing, Seigaku's vice-captain said, "Well, they need to get used to working together. Next year the team will need them to be leaders, and neither of them can do it on their own."

Ryuzaki-sensei hummed in agreement. "You're right, of course, but can they do it?"

Finished arguing for the moment, Momo and Kaidoh stood and walked toward Court D, where the freshmen students were waiting. Momo addressed them first, hands on his hips. "Alright. Start with fifty laps around the grounds."

The response was reflexively widened eyes, panicked expressions. "Fifty!" protested one of the boys.

"Did he stutter?" Kaidoh demanded. His audience blanched, and as a body, they shook their heads. "Then get going!"

As they took off, Momo commented, "Scary, Kaidoh. You don't think that was a little harsh?"

"Says the guy who lets himself be challenged by first years. Do you think you'll win their respect that way?"

Momo huffed a laugh. "They can't play tennis if they're dead, you know."

"You're the one who started them out with laps."

"I thought you'd like that," Momo said. "Running, running, running. That's all I ever see you do."

"You haven't been complaining lately. Be thankful I let you come with me."

"_Let _me? Geez. Why do you always have to pick a fight?"

"_Me _pick a fight?"

From a distance, Oishi and Ryuzaki-sensei continued their surveillance, and despite the bickering, the older woman's shoulders eased. She glanced beside her. "Alright, so they're morons. But maybe it will be okay."

"Surprising, isn't it? It was the same when they first played doubles together. I thought you and Tezuka were just trying to teach them a lesson, but somehow they make a good combination."

"Balance," Ryuzaki-sensei suggested wisely.

Warm certainty grew Oishi's chest as he watched Momoshiro punch Kaidoh's arm affectionately and then dodge the answering swing. He chuckled, thinking of the bright future of the Seigaku tennis club. Those two had come a long, long way. When the time came, he would trust them to pick up where he left off.

Nodding, he gave his benediction: "The team will be in good hands."

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on episode (113) _Atobe the Beautiful_ wherein Momoshiro and Kaidoh's bickering isn't always what it appears to be. Despite the difficult start they had, I think that once these two find their footing, they'll make excellent leaders. Not that they don't have their work cut out for them with such an novice team to build on once the seniors graduate…


	13. Protective

**Protective**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Taka  
Summary: When Taka-san finds out that Momoshiro has been hiding something, he struggles to find a way to help without doing more damage.

* * *

Kawamura Takashi knew that, as a mentor, he was letting Momoshiro down. They played similar styles of tennis, so it only made sense that he should be a role model for his younger counterpart. Unfortunately, it hadn't worked out that way. He was too timid in some ways and too reckless in others. In fact, although he was older, there were times he felt that it was the spunky lower classman who supported _him_ instead of the other way around. Yet Momo did look up to him.

"I hope I can be as brave as you, Taka-san," he said in the hospital after Takashi had returned Fudomine's_ hadokyu _in Fuji's place. Hissing at the doctor's ministrations, Taka did not think he was brave. He _knew_ he could return that shot, just as he'd known Fuji would have been hurt. That wasn't brave.

Still, it was nice that a guy like Momoshiro thought so highly of him. "Thanks," Taka muttered, and then they hurried off to watch Echizen's match.

After that, Takashi didn't think much about those kinds of things, except to remind Momo about strength training and occasionally to engage in explosive practice matches where they could both feel the push of every return on their rackets. Momoshiro always laughed and roared back his own battle cries just as loud as Taka's. During those times, Takashi didn't feel so bad about how he was doing as a senpai.

Still, he wished there was more he could do. After all, everybody needed someone to look out for them, right? Even dauntless Momoshiro, who didn't seem to need help from anybody.

* * *

It was a cool morning and everyone was stretching out after a jog around the grounds. Momoshiro had been behind in the pack today, and Kaidoh was needling him about it – something about hamburgers and too much slacking off. Momo snarled back that at least he didn't spend _literally every moment_ training, which pissed Kaidoh off enough to physically retaliate.

The two rivals grabbed each other by their shirtfronts practically every day, so often that it seemed like their natural way of communicating. This argument didn't seem any different, yet when Kaidoh grasped his shoulder, Momoshiro jerked as though burned. With sharp, sudden anger, he shoved Kaidoh away. "Back off, Kaidoh!"

The tone and quality of his voice was completely unlike Momo, his physical response far too violent. It attracted every eye immediately, but Momoshiro was already stomping off. Kaidoh adjusted his ruffled jersey. "Che," he said. "What's wrong with him today?"

Taka put his hand behind his head. "It seems like Momo is heated up already."

Kachiro, who was holding a basket of tennis balls, folded his eyebrows downward. "But it's not really like him, is it? They fight all the time, but that was strange."

Taka wasn't sure what to make of this. "What do you mean?"

The freshmen ducked his head. "Maybe I'm just making things up, but it seems like something has been bothering Momo-chan-senpai lately. He hasn't been walking home with Katsuo, Horio, and me either. Not even Ryoma-kun. But then again, maybe he's just tired of hanging out with first years all the time. Do you think that's it, Kawamura-senpai?"

The note of insecurity tugged at Taka. He was quick to reassure. "I'm sure that's not it. He probably just needs some time to himself. Maybe there's even a girl he likes!"

Kachiro smiled at him. "You're probably right. I'm sure that I'm worrying over nothing."

At afternoon practice, Momo seemed distracted. He missed several balls during feeding drills, and actually snapped at Inui when he was corrected. Twenty laps later, he returned to play a practice match with Taka, who watched him warily over the net. He didn't like to say how concerned he was, especially when Momo wouldn't even look at him as they shook hands.

"Oye, Momo," he said, trying to ease the tension he saw in the sophomore's shoulders. "Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

Momoshiro gritted his teeth, still looking at the ground. "I'm fine. Let's get started."

Taka won six games in a row, the best record he'd ever had against Momoshiro, yet it had been one of the most upsetting matches he'd ever played. There had been none of their lively banter or playful testing of each other's physical limits. Momo had been totally lacking control, reckless to the point of suicidal. Oishi, who had been watching the match, called out, "Momoshiro. I want to talk to you."

They left the grounds for this conversation, and when Oishi returned, his face was unusually red. Takashi's eyes stretched. Had they fought? Momoshiro was never disrespectful, especially toward Oishi. "Where's Momo?"

"Cooling off," Oishi said curtly. "I don't know what's going on with him today, but my patience is getting a little thin."

Something _had _happened, then. Taka looked toward the clubhouse and the fountains. What was going on?

When he came back, Momoshiro was calmer. He steered away from Kaidoh, worked hard, and kept his head down. Within a week, everyone seemed to forget about his off-day, but the memory lingered with Taka. '_I wish I could speak to him about it_,' he thought. But it was just another way he was failing Momo. If he was more of a mentor, maybe he would feel comfortable approaching him, but he didn't.

* * *

The restaurant was closing for the night. Taka had finished wiping down the tables and was sweeping outside the door when a noise reached him. It was barely discernable, but Taka knew that sound, and it made sweat stand out on his forehead. Fists hitting flesh, followed by a kind of guttural noise that tore out of person when they had been struck hard.

A fight?

Then there was a thump, like a bag being dropped, and Taka found himself running. Only a few streets away, he came upon the fight. Four, no five backs wearing dark school uniforms. They were wedged around a body pinned on the ground, and as he watched, one of the attackers pulled back his foot and struck again, winning a sharp sound from his victim.

Takashi knew he had to do something, whether that meant trying to intervene or going for help. There was a shop that was still open nearby, and they would have a phone. He could get the owner to come, or he could call the police.

"Argh!" Another brutal kick, and the cry sliced right into Taka, freezing his feet to the ground. As he watched, the person being attacked turned, revealing his face. It was shielded by an arm, but Takashi still stopped breathing. Momoshiro. That was Momoshiro, and those bigger boys were hurting him.

Takashi had a fire that burned inside him when he held a racket. He didn't know why it happened, only that all the confidence he wished he had the rest of the time became accessible. He could fight then. He could always fight then. But the rest of the time he recoiled from violence. Without the racket, he was just shy Kawamura Takashi.

He did not need a racket now.

Takashi barreled into the middle of the assailants, knocking them over one another, striking them with flailing fists, and bellowing obscenities at the top of his lungs. In complete shock, the young men broke away, scattering. Taka watched them run, his blood pounding. His lungs were being squeezed by the enormous fury he felt, and only a ragged voice stopped him from pursuing them.

"T-taka-san?"

Taka deflated as though he had been punctured, horror quickly overtaking anger. He knelt beside Momoshiro, whose face had long, deep scratches that were weeping blood. The sight made Takashi nauseated. "Are you alright?"

Momoshiro grunted, but still managed a smile. "Where did you come from?"

"You're close to my pop's shop," Taka answered. That was where they needed to go. He didn't think those guys would come back, but there was always that chance. "Can you get up?"

Momo managed to pull himself upright, but afterwards he had stop and catch his breath. Taka waited, heart sinking with worry. Finally, Momo accepted his arm and they hobbled back down the block to the open door of _Kawamura Sushi_. The light was still on, shining out onto the darkened street, and Taka's father was waiting. He took in the sight of them.

"Takashi, I was worried when you suddenly disappeared. What happened?"

Taka opened his mouth to answer, but Momoshiro answered before he could. "Nothing. Just a little roughhousing that went too far."

His father frowned but stepped out of the way. "If that's the case, we'd better take care of that cut on your face." He followed them up the stairs, watching Momoshiro sink onto the floor of Takashi's room. "You boys let me know if you need anything," he said, and then the door slid shut on its track.

Takashi fetched the iodine and wet a cotton ball. He did his best to be gentle, but he could tell from the way Momo tensed up that it hurt. It made him feel sick again. "They really did a number on you. It's still bleeding."

Experimentally, Momoshiro prodded his cheek. "One of them pushed me into the side of that building. Stings pretty bad. Do you think it will leave a mark?"

Taka was fairly sure it would bruise spectacularly beneath the scratches, and Momo's eye looked a little swollen, too. That also didn't account for injuries beneath his clothing. Karate had taught him just how much damage a kick could do. "I don't think you're going to be able to hide it, if that's what you mean."

The dark cloud passed over Momo's expression, indicating that was exactly what he meant, and Taka became even more upset. "Momo," he said. "You aren't going to try keeping this a secret?"

Momoshiro leaned back, pointedly putting his line of sight elsewhere. His weak chuckle was a transparent effort to throw off suspicion. "Don't worry so much, Taka-san. It's just a few little cuts."

As he applied a plaster over the raw skin on his teammate's face, Takashi felt inclined to disagree. He didn't know those boys, but they had been older. Even for someone as tough as Momo, it wasn't a fair fight. He wanted to ask more, but pushing wasn't getting him anywhere so far. Sighing, he packed the first aid supplies back in their box. "Do you want me to walk home with you?"

"Ah." Momo hesitated, drawing an arm across his chest. "Actually I'm not ready to head back yet. You don't mind if I hang out with you for a bit, right?"

Taka stood and went to his bureau. He pulled out a soft cotton shirt and an extra pair of track shorts. "If you stay, you should get comfortable. Your clothes are a mess. Maybe my pop will wash them for you so you don't have to explain them to your parents."

Gratitude was thick in Momoshiro's answering look. He took the offered clothes. "Thanks. You don't mind if I use the phone to give them a call?"

Taka went downstairs to have a word with his father while Momo changed and contacted his parents. He offered him the soiled clothing with a downcast face, watching his father finger the holes torn in the elbows. With a grim look, the man said, "This looks like more than a little roughhousing, Takashi."

"Ano," Taka stammered, unsure what to say. It didn't feel right sharing what happened, especially since Momo had been so reticent. Nonetheless, he didn't want to lie to his pop either. Fortunately, he didn't have to.

His father reached for his hand, fingering the swollen knuckles. "I'm proud of you for looking out for him. It seems he could use a friend."

A fragment of the rage he'd felt earlier wormed its way into Taka's belly. He'd been enraged seeing those guys. Now that emotion turned in on itself. It wasn't quite the same, but it wasn't totally different either. He still wanted to protect Momoshiro.

Takashi returned upstairs and found Momo stretched out on his side. He almost seemed to be sleeping, but he opened his eyes when Takashi sat down beside him. His face looked terrible, even with the plaster covering the worst lacerations, and there were strident shadows beneath his eyes. When he pushed himself upright, he was obviously stiff.

"You alright?"

"Just sore," Momo said, stretching slowly. "Thanks for letting me stay, Taka-san."

"It's nothing," Takashi answered. "Do you need anything else? There's pain medicine in the bathroom."

"Maybe later." Momo scratched his hair, which had gone flat, and sighed. "I really appreciate what you did, you know. I would have been alright, but thank you."

A spike of frustration went through Taka. "There were five of them, Momo," he said.

Momoshiro was doing that eye-averting thing again. "It's not like they have the guts to do any real damage. They're just a bunch of cowards."

That made it sound far too much like Momoshiro knew who had attacked him. But if he'd had a run in with them before, surely he would have said something, right? A bad feeling started to come over Taka. He thought about the strange way Momo had been behaving lately, and asked, "Momo, has this happened before?"

He wanted Momo to laugh, to tell him not to be silly. Instead, an uncharacteristic sharpness made angles on his face where there usually were none. He said, "No."

It was so obviously untrue that Taka found himself doing something he rarely did – getting angry. "Stop lying!"

Momo looked dogged. "What do you want me to say?"

"Tell me what really happened." Taka said. "Please."

The bedroom became filled with quiet noises: the tick of the clock on the nightstand, the buzz of a bug hitting a screen window, the far off sound a dog barking. Downstairs, they could heard the laundry machine. Finally, Momoshiro drew his legs in, putting his hands in his lap. "Fine," he said. "I do know them. They've jumped me before."

Even though he'd suspected it, the confirmation was no less troubling. "But why?"

Momo made an irritated sound. "One of them was perving on this junior high girl at the shopping center. I confronted him and took care of it, no problem, but I was wearing my school uniform, and he must have recognized it. He and his friends cornered me a few day later. I figured they'd leave me alone after that, but they haven't. Today I went into a store to avoid them, but I started heading home because I figured they'd given up already. Obviously, they hadn't."

The story of how it had all started didn't surprise Taka. It was just like Momo to step in to protect a frightened girl. Apparently he'd crossed a real jerk, though; someone who didn't mind ganging up on somebody for revenge. "Is this why you haven't been leaving school with Echizen and the other freshmen?"

Momo seemed loath to admit it. "Those guys wait for me sometimes. Can you imagine what might happen to Kachiro or Echizen?"

Thinking of their club's two smallest members made the fine hairs on Taka's arms stand up. Echizen had the self-preservation sense of a garden slug when it came to challenging people who annoyed him, but he wasn't the only person on the team. "Why would you walk home by yourself if you knew this might happen? Any of us would have come with you."

Momo shook his head. "If a bunch of our team get caught fighting, Seigaku could get in serious trouble. And more importantly –" He trailed off and leaned forward. "Taka-san, I don't want anyone else getting hurt."

Taka sat back, dismayed. Momoshiro was athletic and tall for his age. In tennis, he was a formidable adversary, powerful and smart. He also possessed an amiable personality that discouraged confrontation. Taka had never thought he could be vulnerable to something like this. Looking at Momo's defeated posture, he wondered if it had never occurred to Momoshiro either.

But this couldn't go on. If those guys were being so persistent, it wasn't likely they would stop. A sudden memory of the way Momoshiro had jerked away from Kaidoh seized Taka, and his mouth fell open. "Take off that shirt. I want to see your shoulder."

Momoshiro resisted. "No, Taka-san. You don't need to see it."

"It's injured, isn't it?"

"One of them stepped on it," Momo admitted. "But it's fine. Kaidoh just happened to grab me the day after it happened."

That was more than a week ago. If Momoshiro was still refusing to show him, it must be very bad indeed. Taka vividly remembered that flinch. '_You were hurting,_' he realized. '_And, worse, being grabbed scared you_.' Hit someone enough times and they started reacting like they expected to be hit. He never, ever wanted that for Momo, yet it seemed he was well on his way. It also explained that terrible match and Momo's strained temper. He must have been in a lot of pain.

"Momo," he said, shaking his head. "We can't keep this a secret."

Momoshiro looked alarmed. "A few more days, and I'm sure they'll get tired of this. I can avoid them until then."

Taka felt it more likely that evasion would be taken as a challenge, and Taka didn't want to find out Momo had come to serious harm through the school gossip mill. Moreover, Momo's unwillingness to share his trouble was setting off ripples of warning in Taka's mind. It was one thing to be self-reliant, but another entirely to hide the fact that someone was hurting you. That alone was reason to address this with the other seniors. Yet how to convince Momo?

Too meek in some ways and too reckless in others. '_But I can't be weak and give in about this_,' Taka thought, turning his fingers inward until they made two fists. '_Not where it concerns his safety_.'

Reading the resolve on Taka's face, Momoshiro abruptly stood, marching to the other side of the room. He wobbled as he paced, but seemed to have too much nervous energy to be still. Finally, he jerked back around. "If you really cared, you wouldn't force this."

Absurd. '_How can you ask me to stand back and watch you get hurt?'_

Momo was his friend, but he was also his kohai. Taka was responsible for him. Yet, seeing the fierce, helpless look on Momoshiro's face, he feared causing further damage. Unsteady on his feet, exhaustion bending his back, eye blackened. Taka didn't know if Momo could handle one more blow. He didn't want to be the one to knock him down completely.

'_How can I help him without taking control away from him?'_ he thought. The answer came bouncing into his mind like a yellow ball. Momoshiro was a tennis player. Maybe that was the way to make him understand. "Do you remember when you first started playing doubles?"

"Doubles?" Momo bent over, hands on his knees. If he didn't sit down, he was going to fall. Taka steered him back down, feeling his resistance weaken.

"I remember when I first tried doubles," Taka said. "I would forget my partner was there, or we would run into each other."

Momoshiro nodded. "Yeah, I did that. Echizen sucks at doubles."

Takashi smiled at the memory of that match with Gyokurin. Like the others, he'd watched with dismay as the mismatched pair tried to avoid self-destruction. "Depending on someone else isn't easy when you're used to playing by yourself. But even for a powerful player, two-against-one never works. We see that happen all the time, don't we?" He paused, sensing Momoshiro's understanding. "The quickest way to be defeated is to forget that you're not playing alone."

He knew he'd said the right thing when all the tension went out of Momo, his shoulders turning inward. He clenched his hands over his knees. "Taka-san," he said bleakly. "I think I need help."

Takashi put his arm around Momoshiro's shoulders.

* * *

The senior club members didn't take the news any better than Taka had. Oishi had been so upset he hit the table, and Fuji's eyes became glacial. Frowning deeply, Inui pulled out his notebook, nearly tearing the page which listed the local high schools as he turned to it. Every eye was intent on him.

"We'll need Ryuzaki-sensei to clear this up completely," Inui said. "Until then, we'll handle things internally. Taka-san, I think it would be best if the other regulars knew, don't you?"

It didn't take a genius to figure out what Inui was implying. There were two others who were very close to Momoshiro, and neither of them would put up with him putting himself in harm's way. Takashi nodded at the circle of his teammates, agreeing.

There was one more thing. "Ah, Oishi, I think you and Ryuzaki-sensei should talk to Momo. I'm worried about how reluctant he was to tell us about this."

To his surprise, Oishi shook his head. Coming around the table, he put a hand on Takashi's back. "I think Momo already has someone he can talk to, don't you, Taka-san?"

A now familiar surge of protectiveness went through Taka, making him feel just a hint of that fiery anger he knew so well on the tennis court. Oishi was right. He'd always wanted to be there for Momo, and now he had his chance.

Not that he was alone in that mission. That afternoon as they were getting dressed in the clubhouse, Kaidoh stepped in front of Momoshiro, who was tying his shoes. "Hurry up, dumbass," he said. "You're walking home with me today."

Every muscle in Momoshiro's body went rigid, and Taka could tell that he was preparing to reject the offer. However, Echizen was suddenly at his friend's elbow. "Don't try to sneak away, Momo-senpai. We'll catch you."

Feeling the need to defuse things, Taka joined them. "I feel like a hamburger. Why don't I treat you all today?"

Echizen grinned at him, while Kaidoh just looked dour. Takashi, however, kept his eyes on Momoshiro, who was staring at his hands. Finally, though, the younger man lifted his head. He looked grateful, if still demoralized. Building him back up would take time. Nonetheless, he dredged up a smile.

"Thanks, Taka-san," he said.

Anytime, Takashi wanted to stay. He might not have been much of a mentor, but he could do this.

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on Taka's heroism in episode (15) _To Each His Own Battles_ and the Momo-Taka practice match in episode (25). Not to mention their awesome doubles match against Rokkaku's Bane-David Pair in (92-93). Taka and Momo's tight relationship seems obvious, but it interests me that their personalities are as different as their tennis base is similar. Momo seems to take the lead when they're together, so much so that they're referred to as "Momoshiro-tachi" a few times during their double's match, but I just bet Taka feels protective of Momo as his junior.


	14. Like

**Like**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Ryoma, Karupin  
Summary: Ryoma's cat befriends Momoshiro, which really shouldn't surprise anyone.

* * *

Ryoma wasn't entirely sure how, or even when, he had decided to be friends with Momoshiro Takeshi. He was loud, extroverted, and ridiculously demonstrative for someone Japanese. He also mussed Ryoma's hair, which was extremely annoying, and rarely stopped talking unless he was on the tennis court. He did play decent tennis; however, tennis wasn't enough to explain it. Frankly Momoshiro had the kind of boisterous personality that Ryoma usually avoided.

So how was it, he wondered, that he continually ended up on the back of this bike, gripping Momoshiro's shoulders and listening to him chat companionably about Eiji's latest gossip, or Kaidoh's infuriating quip, or Fuji's amazing counter? They had just finished afternoon practice, and he was in a good mood. Which was perhaps why, when Momo skidded to a halt in front of his home, Ryoma asked if he wanted to come inside.

"Really, you sure?" Momo asked. Although they often traveled back and forth from school and hung out around town on days when there weren't club activities, Momo wasn't often invited into his house.

Ryoma considered. He wasn't bored. He didn't need anything from Momo. He just felt like having him around for a while longer. Wasn't that what friends did? Shouldering his bag, he headed for the door. "Come on before I change my mind."

Momoshiro propped his bike inside the gate. "Lucky! I have some English homework I really need help with."

"You should do your own work, Momo-senpai."

"I do it!" Momoshiro protested. "I just haven't got a head for languages. Not like you and Taka-san."

Ryoma recalled Kawamura-senpai's many exclamations in what could more or less be called English. For lack of anything better to say, he muttered, "Hm."

He was grateful to find that they had the house to themselves except for Karupin, who met them at the door and began winding around Ryoma's ankles. Momoshiro was met with a curious sniff and a slight flutter of a fluffy tail. Momo grinned at the cat. "Yo. Remember me?"

Ryoma sighed. "Come on."

Leaving their tennis equipment at the door, they made their way up to Ryoma's room where they could spread out their homework on the floor. It was something Ryoma did everyday, but he had to admit there was something pleasant about having Momoshiro's shoulder jammed in next to his as they sat against the bed. Or there would have been, if he'd been able to get anything done.

The problem was Karupin. The feline seemed to remember their visitor after all, and had proceeded to arch against Momoshiro's side to get his attention. Momo, for his part, was besotted, and had long since shoved aside his own school assignment in favor of attempting to pet the cat. Ryoma was compelled to say 'attempting', because his upraised hand looked a lot more like he was going to use a tennis smash than to pet a small, delicate animal.

"Echizen, Echizen," he said as he finally succeeded in stroking Karupin. "It's making noises."

Exasperated, Ryoma laid aside his pencil. "Of course. He likes you."

"Really?" Momoshiro said, delighted. "How do you know?"

A warm feeling momentarily filled Ryoma's chest as he watched Karupin climb into Momo's lap and make himself comfortable. The cat even went so far as to roll over and offer up his belly for scratching, something that Ryoma had only known Kuripin to do for himself and Nanako. Momoshiro laughed when Karupin caught his hand in two paws and gnawed affectionately on his fingers.

Ryoma looked away. "Of course Karupin likes you," he muttered. "I like you."

Although Momoshiro played the fool most of the time, he could be surprisingly perceptive. Which is why Ryoma wasn't surprised that his only response was an undemanding, lopsided smile. And wasn't that just another reason why they got along? Momoshiro didn't expect him to be a tennis ace or an idol or the pillar of the Seigaku team. Ryoma had the feeling that he and Momoshiro would be friends even without tennis, which frankly astonished him. Before Seigaku, he had barely known there even _were_ meaningful confederations outside of the sport.

"Mrow!" Karupin protested the lull in Momoshiro's attention, squirming and batting at the air. The purring began again almost as soon as Momoshiro brought his fingers back down.

"Well, I like him, too," Momo said, scratching under Karupin's chin until the Himalayan's blue eyes closed in bliss.

Ryoma harrumphed, but made no comment. At this rate they might as well give up on homework and go play tennis.

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on episode (27) _Karupin's Adventure_, which shows off Ryoma's more human side. When he gets all emotional over having his cat back and then invites Momoshiro to play tennis, it made me think about how painstaking it must have been for a reserved kid like him to cultivate friendships. Also based on my best friend's temperamental cat, who seemed to bestow friendship on me based solely on her master's esteem.


	15. Diffidence

**Diffidence**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Kabaji  
Summary: After a spontaneous act of kindness, Momoshiro gets kidnapped by Kabaji.

* * *

Momoshiro picked up the towel that had fluttered to the ground without thinking. Jogging to catch up with their retreating rivals, he held out the terrycloth rag, which was still damp with sweat. "Oye, Kabaji," he called. "I think you dropped this."

The long, muscular back hesitated, then Kabaji turned. He looked at the offering, his expression unreadable, and then reached out to take it. However, instead of grasping the towel, his huge hands engulfed Momoshiro's entire fist, gripping strongly.

Taken aback, Momoshiro sweatdropped. "Ha?"

"Oh," Atobe said, coming up beside them. "It seems Kabaji is deeply moved by your considerate act."

Deeply...moved? Momoshiro peered into Kabaji's intense, blank stare, trying to read any emotion there. Gee, was this guy even human? Momo couldn't believe that he was only thirteen, but Inui was never wrong about things like that. How on earth was he so big? Although Momo was tall for his age, Kabaji's shoulders were like a bracket over his own.

Finally, Momoshiro put his free hand behind his neck, going for an easy laugh. "Uh, well, it's nothing, Kabaji. See you around, okay?"

He didn't like to admit how glad he was to have his hand released. As he headed back to his team, he shook it ruefully, but it remained numb the entire ride back.

* * *

Momo didn't think anything more about this encounter until later in the week when he was getting ready to return home with Echizen and the other freshmen. They had just passed the gates when it felt like he ran into a wall. Startled, he stumbled. What?

"Yo," said a very deep voice, and Momoshiro saw his companions' eyes turn huge and round. He looked up. And up. And up.

"Kabaji," he blurted in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Kabaji didn't answer him. Instead, he grasped Momoshiro's wrist. Instinctively, Momo's muscles contracted, trying to jerk free, but Kabaji didn't move an inch. His mouth opened. "Come," he said, and then Momoshiro was being dragged away by one arm in broad daylight, no matter how much he dug his heels in.

As they rounded the corner, he heard Horio squeak, "What should we do? Momo-chan-senpai's being abducted!" This was followed by Echizen's deadpan response: "Is it really considered kidnapping when you know the kidnapper?"

Damn that Echizen. He was far too careless with his senpai. Although in this case, Momo didn't really think he was being kidnapped. For all his impressive strength, Kabaji was just a kid. Maybe he wanted to play tennis? "Oye, Kabaji," he said as he was dragged along. "Where are we going?"

No answer, not all the way across town, until finally they reached a very nice neighborhood with sprawling, modern houses and big gardens. Kabaji punched in a code to open a gate. They passed into the house's entryway and then finally Momoshiro was free. He rubbed his sore wrist while Kabaji removed his shoes and meticulously arranged them with the others. He turned his head and looked at Momo's feet.

"Oh!" Momo stammered, flustered. He rushed to yank off his sneakers. "Sorry!"

Kabaji was still carefully lining them up when a voice greeted them. "Mune, honey. Is that you?"

"Tadaima," Kabaji said in monotone.

A woman stepped into the hall, and Momoshiro's eyes stretched. She was the biggest lady he'd ever seen, almost as tall as Kabaji, with thick brown hair tied in a ponytail and biceps like the poles supporting a tennis net. She smiled at them sweetly. "Oh, Mune. I thought you were with Keigo-kun again today. Who is this?"

Self-conscious, Momo introduced himself. "Momoshiro Takeshi. We, ah, met playing tennis."

"Tennis, tennis." The woman shook her head. "That seems like all you kids think about. Well, I'm glad you decided to take a break today. Do you plan to go upstairs, darling?" Kabaji nodded to the lady, who was obviously his mother, and started ascending the stairs. He clearly expected Momo to follow. His mother waved as they climbed. "I'll make you boys some snacks."

Momoshiro, who had pretty much resigned himself to confusion, was ushered to the end of the hall. He wasn't sure what to expect, but a normal boy's room wasn't it. Seashells were lined up on the shelves. A blue comforter covered a very wide, sturdy bed with a limp, raggedy stuffed animal on it. There were framed pictures of a younger (though not much smaller) Kabaji with a silver-haired boy who had a mole on his cheek.

A fish tank burbled in the background, and Momo spotted a fleet school of tiny electric blue fish darting in and out of what seemed to be living coral. He was so engrossed that he almost jumped out of his skin when Kabaji's huge palm slammed down on his shoulder.

"Sit," said Kabaji.

Momo sank down immediately. Then he waited, cross-legged, while the other folded himself across from him. Kabaji looked pleased, sort of, now that Mom was looking. Thinking of Atobe, Momo wondered if maybe Kabaji was just enjoying giving the orders for once. The idea made him crack a smile, and he relaxed just a little.

Kabaji, meanwhile, was holding a stack of square cards, which he began laying out in a neat, ten-by-ten pattern. Curious, Momo watched until, with a final nudge to the perfectly aligned rows, Kabaji looked up. "Go," he said.

Perplexed, Momo hesitated before picking up one of the cards. Printed on one side was a picture of a cartoon octopus with googly eyes. He stared. Was this? He set down his octopus, reached across, and turned over another card. An adorable baby shark smiled up at him. Kabaji turned down the mismatched cards and took his turn. He faultlessly revealed two sharks, then turned over a starfish and a clown fish. He looked at Momo expectantly.

They were playing Memory.

"Uh," said Momo, unsure how he felt about playing a kid's game. However, he had never been one to refuse a challenge, and he finally shrugged, pulling off his uniform jacket to get more comfortable. Not that it helped. Kabaji, not surprisingly, had excellent recall. Seven games in, Momoshiro leaned back and gave an exasperated huff. "You win, Kabaji. I can't take any more."

Kabaji blinked, then began stacking the cards. Momo listened to the clock tick. It was blue and painted with a Hokusai wave. It had delicate little curls at the tips that looked hand painted. Idly, he wondered if Kabaji's awesome copying skills extended to that kind of thing, too. It made him curious.

"So, you like cards and seashells. And tennis, I guess. Or is that more Atobe's thing?"

The other teen's head tilted, but it didn't seem as blank as before. Now that Momo was paying attention, there were all kinds of little shifts in his expression, almost like he was having a conversation, and Momo was just kind of deaf. He remembered what Inui said about Kabaji playing unreasonably logical tennis, which meant he wasn't stupid. Momo became determined to listen better.

"I like seashells," he said. "Although I've only been to the beach a few times. Our team went there to play volleyball. It was fun, but I kind of suck at that sport."

A micro-movement of a dark eyebrow twisting downward. A question?

"I don't mind basketball, even if it's boring. I'm good at jumping. But tennis is really it for me. Hey, do you like °_C__-ute_? I just downloaded their album." He dug around in his bag for his MP3 player. Kabaji accepted one of the ear buds and they listened to a few songs. Afterwards, Momo asked, "What do you like to listen to?"

Standing, Kabaji went to his stereo. Momo didn't think he could be shocked by anything, from Babymetal to Beethoven. However, he hadn't expected the soft, natural rhythm of waves on sand, broken only by the occasional cry of a seagull.

"You really like the ocean, huh?" said Momo. "We ought to go sometime. I mean –"

He stopped. What was he saying? He barely knew this guy. He glanced up, embarrassed, only to find that Kabaji had frozen. Fortunately, the awkward moment was interrupted by the timely appearance of Kabaji's mother, who carried a plate of snacks. She offered Momo a warm smile. "It's nice to see Mune making some new friends. Keigo-kun is such a sweetheart, but my Mune is so shy, I worry sometimes. Are you going to stay and eat with us tonight, Takeshi-kun?"

Without giving him a chance to answer, Kabaji said, "Yes."

Momo blinked, but decided to just go with it. "Uh, sure. I'd love to. Thanks."

As he listened to Mrs. Kabaji descend the steps, it occurred to Momoshiro that he'd been invited over to hang out. As a friend. Had he just become friends with the monster of Hyotei? He turned back to Kabaji, who was staring at his socks, looking uncertain. He was obviously close to Atobe, but Atobe was also his senpai and had a personality that would overpower anybody, never mind a quiet guy who liked seashells.

Finally feeling as though he understood, Momoshiro softened. Everybody needed to just chill with an equal sometimes. "Hey, Kabaji," he said. "Inui-senpai said your grunting technique is really great. Do you think you could coach me sometime?"

Brown eyes flickered, and Kabaji sat down with a thump. Then – Momoshiro _swore _– he smiled. "Okay," he said.

They were deep in the middle of a game of Go Fish and a mostly one-sided conversation about movies (Momoshiro liked animal stories, adventure movies, and explosions. Kabaji, sci-fi. Who knew?) when Kabaji's mom called up the steps. "Mune, darling. Takeshi-kun. Dinner!"

"Come," Kabaji said, and Momo hopped up, grinning.

"Osu," he chimed, just because he could. Then he almost blacked out when Kabaji clapped him on the back. Fortunately Kabaji caught his shoulder before he went toppling down the stairs. Momo complained, "Gee, have a little consideration. I'm delicate."

Once again, he could swear – _swear_ – Kabaji smiled.

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on the match beginning with episode (60) _Power vs. Power_ and the little flashes of Kabaji in general, like him playing with the dog in (126). He and Atobe are obviously really close, but I wanted Momo to become his buddy. So there!


	16. Rejection

**Rejection**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Inui, Ryuzaki-sensei  
Summary: To benefit the team as a whole, Inui makes a decision on Momoshiro's behalf.

* * *

It seemed that it had finally happened. Ryuzaki-san stared down at the paper on her desk, an invitation to attend a special training camp for a promising junior player on the Seigaku team. An invitation that had Momoshiro Takeshi's name on it.

"It's a recruitment farm," Ryuzaki-san said. "They bring in coaches and professionals to work with the attendees, and then they take their pick."

Inui read Ryuzaki-san's troubled expression and understood her concern. He voiced it: "Momoshiro would certainly be chosen."

Ryuzaki-san ducked her head once, acknowledging what he said. "It was that match with Rokkaku. Our Momo's been flying under the radar, but his true ability is beginning to come out."

Inui adjusted his glasses. She was right, of course. Momoshiro had the potential to become a very troublesome opponent. He had a penetrating insight into the psychology of other players, and he could also be shrewd. Inui had seen him break players like Hyotei's prodigy Oshitari, ruining their concentration by reversing or anticipating their play. Moreover, Momo had also proven himself flexible enough for doubles, able to adjust his style to suit many combinations.

Up until now, people had underestimated Momoshiro. No one who faced his uncomplicated smile over the net was able to pair it with the manipulative play style he was able to wield. By the time most opponents had realized he wasn't as simple as he seemed, it was too late.

However, now the likable sophomore was gaining a reputation, and not just as a powerhouse player. Thus the letter. Someone outside the team had obviously caught a glimmer.

Ryuzaki-san sighed. "It's an incredible opportunity for him. And yet..."

And yet, Seigaku would feel the loss. They had seen that clearly when, after losing his regular position, Momo had missed club activities for three days. The lowered morale had made for compelling data at the time, but now it foreshadowed possible problems. Momoshiro's presence stabilized team dynamics. He encouraged the freshmen. He was catalyst to Kaidoh's continued evolution. To rascal Eiji, he was kohai and co-conspirator. He was a scaffold to Oishi's strong team spirit, and close friend to the ever-reserved Echizen. Moreover, while he had a reputation for being a hot-head, his actual influence tended toward channeling the team's passions into calm, useful energy. Seigaku needed him.

Ryuzaki-san laid her hand over the invitation. "I don't know what to say to him."

"Let me handle it," Inui requested, reaching out to take it from her. She let him, though not without raising an uneasy eyebrow. Nonetheless, she stood and headed for the door.

"I'll leave it to you, then," she said with her back to him.

When she was gone, Inui stood with the invitation in his hand for a long time. Although his mind went over the ramifications again, the answer had been clear from the beginning. He crumpled the paper in his fist, balling it tightly and dropping it in the waste paper basket.

"I'm sorry, Momo," he said. "At the moment, we can't spare you."

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on episode (93) _Dash Hadokyu_. In it Inui shares his insights on Momo's crafty play-style, which I would argue began to emerge during (56)'s match against Hyotei's Oshitari-Mukahi Pair. Inui is one of my favorites, but he can also be pretty coldly logical. For the benefit of the team, I could see him making a decision like this on Momoshiro's behalf.


	17. Apathy

**Apathy**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Kaidoh  
Summary: After suffering a loss, Momoshiro thinks it might be easier if he didn't care so much. It takes a rival to set him straight.

* * *

Momoshiro tried it once, for a day. It was near the end of his freshman year of junior high, and one of the regulars had injured themselves, leaving an open spot for an approaching match. A position he'd lost to Kaidoh. He'd taken it very hard, hard enough to consider that things might be easier if he didn't care so much.

So he tried.

Looking in the mirror that morning, he'd felt unusually tired, so he didn't style his hair. He'd sat through his classes without a mumbled word. Had eaten his lunch without interest and tried to push down on the passion, just for a little while. Just long enough to recover.

Practice that afternoon had gone by without his usual exuberance, leaving the other first years crestfallen and low on energy without knowing why; he'd even declined all competition with Kaidoh. Relieved when it was finally over, he'd retreated to a deserted staircase to sit quietly and ache.

He didn't even notice his teammate approaching until Kaidoh was upon him, cuffing him over the head. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

Momoshiro blinked. "Huh?"

"Idiot. You're going to ruin your chance at being a regular. What are you thinking?" When he received no answer, Kaidoh growled. "Do I have to spell it out for you? Sulking isn't going to change anything! And this attitude, it's no good."

Momoshiro's eyelashes fluttered, staring at him.

Then Kaidoh hit him again, hard enough to jar him back to reality. "Awake now? Good."

Kaidoh stepped back, stretching his legs before he jogged away from the steps. Instinctively, Momo moved to follow him. At first they ran alongside one another at a measured pace, then faster, until they were racing, head-to-head. They ran until passion boiled up in Momo's belly once more, and all of a sudden, that seemed okay again.

* * *

Author's Note:

Inspired by episode (50) _A Seigaku Tradition_, when Momo loses his regular position and takes it so hard. I love how Kaidoh barks at Horio for being insensitive in that episode; it seems like a good example of the subtle ways they support one another. For a Momo example, I'd cite (58) or (113), when he "provokes" Kaidoh during matches to help him focus his temper.

* * *

By the way, do you like the icon for this story? I enjoyed making it so much that I ended up doing one for all of the Seigaku regulars, including a banner for the whole team. If you'd like one, you should check my account - swisskun at deviantart dot com. Enjoy!


	18. Concern

**Concern**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Fuji  
Summary: When Fuji notices that Momoshiro has a bad cough, he doesn't think much of it. Then at practice Momo starts to have trouble breathing, and things turn more serious.

* * *

It started as a cough, barely noticeable. Fuji paid attention only long enough to encourage his teammate to get some extra rest after a practice match left Momoshiro unusually winded. "You should take better care of yourself," he suggested. "More sleep and plenty of hot tea. Maybe you should even take a few days off."

"So soon before a ranking tournament?" Momoshiro laughed. "No way, Senpai. I'll be fine."

Knowing how hard Momoshiro had taken it the last time he lost his regular position, Fuji didn't push the matter. After all, a cold wasn't anything to worry about. Thus he had patted Momo on the back, put away his racket, and thought nothing more about it.

The week passed, dizzily and damp, but since there were no downpours, tennis practice continued. Finally the sun came out. Still sweaty from his warm-up match, Fuji stretched and took advantage of his extra time to visit an adjacent court. The tournament blocks would soon be posted, and it seemed prudent to observe his opponents. In a lucky stroke, Kaidoh and Momo had been paired together. Fuji watched them shake hands at the net.

It was Kaidoh's service, but they had to pause when Momoshiro started coughing. The harsh sound took a while to stop, but he finally managed to get it under control and signal to his impatient partner that he was ready.

"Are you going to be able to stand upright?" Kaidoh demanded, gripping the ball hard enough that it creaked. It was sweet that he was concerned, Fuji thought. Though it _would_ be nice if he could demonstrate it a little more kindly.

Momo waved. "Fine, fine. Go ahead."

Soon the popping sound of a tennis ball in play could be heard, and Fuji realized that Ryoma had joined him. Fuji's first thought was that he'd come over for the same reason: to take a look at the competition. However, his hat was jammed low over his forehead, and he seemed preoccupied.

Fuji looked at him curiously. "Is everything alright, Echizen?"

The was something uneasy in the way Ryoma sharp eyes flicked between the two competitors. "Does something seem off about Momo-senpai to you?"

There _was_ something about Momoshiro's posture that seemed wrong. His form was a mess, for one thing, his knees barely bending. He was out of breath, too, and dripping with sweat, though practice had just started. That lack of stamina usually meant a player was sick, and Fuji was reminded of their match a few days ago.

"I noticed he seemed a bit under the weather, but I thought it was just a cold. Has he said anything to you about not feeling well?"

Ryoma ducked his head, reluctant as always to show any overt attachment, even to Momoshiro. Finally, though, he admitted, "He's hasn't looked good all week. I told him not to come to school, but he doesn't listen."

Fuji continued to watch Momoshiro run up and down the court with much less energy than usual. Kaidoh had gotten a couple of aces in a row, but instead of being pleased, he seemed personally affronted. He drummed the ball angrily against the court, then leaned back and fired it across the net. It was a decent serve, but his opponent should have had no trouble returning it. The ball skipped straight past Momo.

Kaidoh snapped, "Can't you even hit a lenient serve like that? Play like you mean it, or get off the court!"

"Sorry, sorry," Momoshiro said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Fuji frowned. It _had_ been an easy shot. The question was, had Momo misjudged it or was he really in such bad condition? That persistent cough seemed to be plaguing him, forcing him to stop time and time again.

"That doesn't look good," Oishi said, frowning as he came up beside them. "Is he sick?"

"He's been coughing since last week, but the ranking tournament is coming up."

"Ah, that would do it," Oishi said with understanding. As junior club members whose skill level was roughly equal, Momoshiro and Kaidoh were often placed in the same block. Tezuka and Ryuzaki-sensei believed the extra pressure forced them to keep improving. However, it also meant that their rackets would have to be pried from their fingers before they would miss practice. However, looking at Momoshiro's ashen complexion, it was clear that he wasn't up for tennis today.

Oishi sighed. "Should I put a stop to this and send him home?"

"It'll hurt his pride, but maybe it would be for the best. " Fuji was concerned with how labored his breathing had become. As they watched, he inhaled falteringly, wiping his mouth. Then he signaled to Kaidoh.

Oishi opened his mouth, but the serve had already been made. Momoshiro should have brought up his racket to deflect, but his reflexes were sluggish. Fuji's eyes snapped open a second before impact, realizing that Momo was going to be hit. It struck with an audible _thump_, knocking him down. Fuji and Oishi ran over when Momoshiro remained hunched, the coughing having started again, rasping from deep in his chest.

A flustered Kaidoh came up behind them, hand clenched tight around his racket. Gruffly, he asked, "What's wrong with him?"

Oishi shook his head, unsure, and put his hand against Momo's forehead. Fuji saw the lines form around his eyes as he did. Momoshiro definitely had a fever. "Oishi, as soon as he stops coughing, someone needs to take him home."

The problem was that the attack wasn't letting up, and Momo was starting to wheeze. The wet hacking began to sound more desperate, until a tearing note entered it and Momo gave up holding his ribs to curl inward.

"I just can't," he tried to say, and those watching realized with alarm that the front of his shirt was spotted red. He took a gusty, frantic gulp of air, which quickly became an even uglier cough. "I can't –"

He couldn't breathe. Looking up, Fuji issued a rare command to the underclassmen. "Katsuo, run as fast as you can to Ryuzaki-sensei's office. Ask her to bring around her car. Oishi."

"I agree," he said, putting his arm around Momo's shoulders. "Better safe than sorry. Eiji, will you call Momo's parents and let them know we're going to take him the hospital to get checked out?"

Eiji eagerly went to pull his phone out of his case. "I've got it, Oishi."

"Taka-san, can you help?"

Taka, who had gone pale at the sight of blood, approached hesitantly and lifted Momoshiro's other arm. It took both him and Oishi to pull Momo to his feet. His chest still jerked, but the movement was weaker now. However, Fuji feared it was less because the urge to cough had passed and more because of how rapidly Momo seemed to be losing strength. He was completely out of it by the time the car pulled around.

"You don't mind taking charge of practice, do you, Inui?" Oishi asked from his position in the back seat. Momoshiro's head was lolling, his eyes closed.

Inui nodded, eyes hidden behind his spectacles as always. "Of course not."

"Good. Then I'll leave you to it. Stay focused, everyone, and we'll let you know as soon as we hear something."

With that, Ryuzaki-sensei put on the gas and they left the disconcerted group of tennis players behind them. Fuji rubbed his arms, wishing he could get the image of the dark spots on Momo's shirt out of his mind.

"Fuji-senpai?" One of the freshmen asked in a pitifully small voice. "Will Momo-chan-senpai be okay?"

Everyone was unnerved. He tried to comfort them by smiling, but found it hard to hold the edges of his mouth in position. "Don't worry. Taking him to a doctor was just a precaution. I'm sure he'll be feeling better in no time."

Inui added, "Better to get back to practice then to stand around worrying. Let's go."

Most responded, returning to the grounds. Only two remained behind, and they were exactly the two Fuji expected. To Kaidoh, whose eyes hadn't yet left the road, he said, "Kaidoh, you know he was sick before he got here today. He wouldn't have collapsed like that otherwise. It wasn't your fault."

Kaidoh jerked, scowling and making a harsh "che" noise in his throat. "Of course not," he growled, stalking off toward the court.

Then it was just Ryoma. Ryoma was not a demonstrative person, but the way he was gripping his friend's discarded racket spoke volumes.

"Are you worried?"

Ryoma gave him a needy look which revealed more than he probably realized.

Fuji suggested, "Why don't you get Momoshiro's things and take them home on his bicycle. Maybe you can ride with his family and pay him a visit. You know Momo. He likes gestures like that."

"He's stupid," Ryoma said. "I told him days ago he shouldn't play."

Fuji nodded, remembering his own failure to recognize how serious Momo's illness was. "Momoshiro can definitely be hardheaded. I don't think anyone could have changed his mind once he made it up, do you?"

Gratitude was too much to ask for, but Ryoma did duck his head and turn toward the clubhouse. Fuji was satisfied with that. Clearly, he needed to be with his friend right now, and once Momo was clear-headed enough to appreciate it, it really _would_ make a difference to him. He only hoped that whatever was wrong could be taken care of quickly, because Fuji did not ever want to see animated Momoshiro looking that weak again.

Inui's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Are you coming?"

Fuji found himself looking toward the horizon, in the direction of the hospital. His brow furrowed, he asked, "What do you think?"

Inui lifted one shoulder. "Respiratory distress, fever, bloody discharge. Chance of infection: 90 percent."

"I hated seeing him fight like that and not being able to do anything," Fuji admitted.

Only Inui's hesitation gave away his own concern. He said, "The doctors will be able to help him. We should leave it in their hands."

Fuji sighed. "You're right."

* * *

Word came the next morning via Oishi, who called the whole club together to provide an update. "Pneumonia," he said. "Fairly serious because it went untreated, but he's on medicine now, so they expect he'll be fine. They sent him home as soon as the fever came down."

"But he was coughing blood," Katsuo squeaked.

"Just a broken vessel in his throat from all the coughing. He's fine. I expect we'll see him back at practice in no time."

"On light duty," Inui put in. "No practice matches. No ranking tournament."

Eiji ribbed Kaidoh. "Hear that?"

Fuji had never seen anyone look less pleased about their position as a regular than Kaidoh did now. With a querulous look, he turned to stalk away, hands jammed deep into his pockets. Only Inui's hand stopped him.

"You'll be entrusted with the responsibility of representing the juniors, it seems, until Momo gets back. Not something to take lightly."

Everyone needed to hear different things. Defiance deflating, Kaidoh made that soft hissing sound for which he was so well known. He moodily jerked his head to the side. "I know."

"He'll be back by Wednesday," Ryoma piped up. He was balancing his racket idly on two fingers, looking for all the world as though he were completely uninterested in this conversation. "I bet five hundred yen."

"No wagering," Oishi said automatically, but he was smiling, and a lighter mood spread.

Oishi didn't include all the details he had shared with Fuji, about how the doctors had been worried enough to put Momoshiro on oxygen, a routine procedure which had nonetheless kept him in the hospital overnight. He also had not said that Momo's fever was dangerously high when they admitted him, or that he'd probably started off with no more than a bad cold, but his refusal to take it easy had sapped his strength and allowed the infection to grow more severe.

No, Oishi left those things out. After all, there was no need to worry everyone. It would be a quiet few weeks without Momoshiro stirring up the enthusiasm of the freshmen and antagonizing Kaidoh, but things would soon be back to normal. One thing that would be different, however, was that Fuji planned to a closer eye on his fellow club members. Tennis was important, but it wasn't worth anyone's health.

* * *

Author's Note:

No episode commentary for this one. Only recently, I attempted to play tennis while sick. Long story short, if you're working very hard and can't breath well, you may pass out. This scares everyone, and I wouldn't suggest it. But since the Seigaku boys like to play with chronic injuries, cramps, swollen joints, and blood running down their face, well, frankly it's a wonder they don't end up at the hospital more often.


	19. Jealousy

**Jealousy**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Kamio, Tachibana  
Summary: Kamio is not jealous of Momoshiro Takeshi, and as for playing doubles together, it's absolutely out of the question.

* * *

Kamio was _not_ jealous of Momoshiro Takeshi. True, he didn't like him, but that was because he was a rival player who had stolen his bicycle, humiliated him in front of their enemies, and because he was so cavalier about the way he treated An.

It had nothing to do with the fact that Momoshiro had overshadowed him in their street-tennis match against Hyotei – not even the fact that Momoshiro hadn't come to his defense when Atobe had disregarded him, although that _had _stung. Certainly it had nothing to do with lovely An, a girl _Kamio_ would treat the way she deserved, and not like an idiot who took her out on dates and then denied his intentions.

"An told me about that," Tachibana admitted after listening to his friend's outrage over the incident. "She was trying to do something kind for you."

That brought Kamio up short. "For me?"

His captain nodded. "Yes. She thought the two of you would make a good doubles pair, and I agree with her. You could use someone to balance you out, Kamio. You're too impulsive."

Even the idea that he would make a good combination with _Momoshiro_ of all people was insulting, and the implication that he needed a game maker even more so. Which is why he vehemently declared, "I don't need the help of that blockhead."

"By all accounts, he's no blockhead. Smart, technical, and quite cunning. You saw the way he dismantled the Rokkaku pair. That wasn't a match won by brute strength."

Kamio had to concede the point, if only begrudgingly. Momoshiro had allowed Seigaku to wield their power like the blade of a knife rather than like the swing of a club. In their brief but disastrous double's match, it had allowed Kamio full use of his speed, too. If it hadn't been for their self-destruction, he had no doubt they would have defeated Shinji and Echizen.

Crossing his arms, Kamio tried not to growl. "I still don't like him."

"Don't be jealous of a guy like Momoshiro, Kamio," Tachibana said, laying a hand on his teammate's shoulder. "For one thing, I doubt he'll notice. Besides, you have your own skills. Don't miss out on the opportunity to get to know someone who might complement them."

Kamio gave this advice a lot of thought, but it was still a few days before he felt able to confront the other boy on the way home from school. Momoshiro stopped at the sight of him, clearly uneasy. "Ah, Kamio. Did you need something?"

Kamio was glaring at the ground, his fists clinched. "Let me borrow your bike."

"What?"

Clenching his teeth to avoid swearing, Kamio repeated, "Give me your bike. You can have it back tomorrow. Meet me at the street-tennis court. They're having a tournament there."

Momoshiro might not be a blockhead, but it sure took him a long time to stop that gormless staring and realize what Kamio was offering. Finally, he blurted, "A doubles tournament?" Then, unexpectedly, he started laughing, and Kamio found the frame of Momoshiro's bicycle being shoved into his gut. "Sure! What time?"

Surprised by the easy acceptance, Kamio carefully took hold of the handlebars, resolving to ride the vehicle through a few bushes and push it down at least one flight of stairs. "Seven. Don't be late."

Momoshiro was still grinning as he continued on foot. "Sure thing. See you tomorrow!"

Kamio watched him go, feeling his irritation and awkwardness fizzling and dying away. He really wanted to dislike Momoshiro, but it didn't look like that was going to work out if they were going to be doubles partners. He still resented the thing Momo had with An, but that, at least, was still in his power to do something about. He mounted Momoshiro's bike. Girls liked flowers, right?

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on episodes (22) _Kaoru's Troubles_ and (71) _It's a Date_. Frankly, I'm not sure if An has made up her mind on this one, but one way or another I do have a soft spot for Kamio. I was also intrigued by the idea in (71) that he and Momo might make a good doubles pair. As a side note, what is it in Japan about bike theft leading to an eternal grudge?


	20. Bitterness

**Bitterness**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Ryoma, Oishi, Arai  
Summary: Ryoma overhears some unkind words about Momoshiro, which leads to self-doubt.

* * *

Ryoma overheard them talking as he passed the clubhouse. The door had been propped open, and the voices carried easily. He recognized Arai's voice, as well as the bitterness that lanced through it. "I don't know how Momoshiro handles it. I can barely stand being around him during club activities, much less the rest of the time."

An uneasy prickling feeling traveled down Ryoma's back, and he stopped, listening.

"Arrogant brat. And what's worse is the way he flaunts it, throwing it in everyone's face how good he is. His attitude sucks. Even to Momo. Why the hell does he hang around with him?"

"Maybe Momo just likes standing in the shadow of success," Ikeda suggested, his laugh harsh. "I mean, Momo's already been bounced off the regulars once since Echizen showed up. Maybe he's scrabbling not to fall off the edge and become just like one of us."

"One of us." A crash, like something being handled with force and thrown on the ground. The tell-tell clatter of a racket falling. Arai swore. "At least we don't pander to that brat. Momoshiro looks like a chump tagging along after Echizen!"

Ryoma swallowed, disturbed by what he'd overheard. Arai and the others were making fun of Momo. Did other people do that, too, because of him?

"Momoshiro should stop pretending," Arai continued. "It's not like anyone would really want to be friends with such a snob."

Ryoma was used to resentment. He had heard a thousand insults, but somehow these felt oddly physical. Thinking of his friend, Ryoma wondered. Was it possible that Momo harbored the same vitriol toward him like so many others did? Was he really just pretending?

A hand landed on his shoulder, and Ryoma jumped. "Oishi-senpai!"

Sure enough, the club's vice-captain was there. He was looking at the clubhouse, his mouth set in a hard line. "You shouldn't pay attention to that."

Ryoma looked away, pulling down the brim of his hat. He felt embarrassed to be caught listening to such mean-spirited gossip. "I wasn't."

It would have been easier if Oishi-senpai let it go, but he wasn't an idiot. He saw right through the indifference Ryoma was projecting. "Arai is in Momo's class. They used to be friends, but things have changed."

Ryoma felt a pang. "Because of me."

"Actually, no," Oishi said. "Arai had a hard time with the fact that Momo is at a different level. What he says is a projection of his own feelings, not a reflection of Momo's."

The remark was too perceptive, a direct response to Ryoma's momentary insecurity. He heard the words again, the ones that had felt like blows. _Momo should stop pretending._

Oishi said, " Echizen, Momo doesn't need a friend that strokes his ego, and he's more than tough enough to deal with the fact that you outshine him sometimes. In fact, I doubt he thinks about it much. It's not his style."

Ryoma considered how he might have felt in Momo's place. It did not make him feel better. "I think it would bother _me_," he said.

"Then be thankful," Oishi responded. "You're lucky to have such a good friend. There aren't many like him."

That was certainly true. Ryoma had limited experience with friends, but he had faced many diverse opponents, and Momo had struck him as different form the moment he stepped onto the tennis court that first day. He had been taking Ryoma out for hamburgers and giving him rides on his bike in under a week. Not a tactic usually taken by an embittered rival. Ryoma could even tease him. He'd never had someone like that.

A smile negotiated with Ryoma's mouth. "You're right, Oishi-senpai."

"Good." The senior nodded. Then, as Ryoma watched, he started toward the clubhouse, where the faint conversation of Arai and the others could still be heard. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have something I need to take care of."

Ryoma stuck around long enough to heard faint echoes of words like, '_Shameful_,' and _"__No tolerance for this kind of disrespect' _and '_Momo deserves better from so-called friends'_. Finally, he wandered off, smirking.

The next day, Arai, Ikeda, and a few other sophomores were assigned to pick up balls in place of the freshmen. Then court maintenance. Then laps. Nothing was said about the reason why. As they were stretching, Momo commented on it: "Whatever they did must have been really bad for Oishi-senpai to be so hard on them."

Ryoma looked over at Arai, who was sweating hard under his green headband. He smiled. "I'm sure they deserved it."

The guilty club members were still running laps later that afternoon as Ryoma walked beside Momo's bike and the two of them headed for home. Glancing up at his friend, Ryoma took a moment to be grateful. Oishi-senpai had been right. It took character to be happy for someone who outperformed you. He was lucky.

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on Episode (2) _Samurai Junior. _Arai is a great character who experiences a lot of growth for having a secondary (almost tertiary) role. That being said, the way he treats those younger than him can be a little disappointing. Momoshiro, on the other hand, not only shows kindness to others but also demonstrates consistent grace when it comes to being friends with a prodigy. Not everybody has the temperament for that, and it was a big part of why he came to be so high in my estimation.


	21. Fear

Warning: Everything upsetting is implied. However, if you are strongly triggered by even the suggestion of sexual predators, maybe take a skip on this one.

* * *

**Fear**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Kaidoh  
Summary: Walking home from a late training session, Momoshiro is invited to take a ride with some older guys. It's a bad idea.

* * *

Even as blocks passed under their feet, the scarlet humiliation wouldn't fade from Momoshiro's face. The sweat under his collar itched with heat, and to add insult to injury, his cheek was still throbbing. Worse still, even though he kept his chin down, he couldn't get the experience out of his mind because his opponent was pacing along beside him, his tennis shoes just inside his peripheral vision.

Kaidoh made a disparaging sound. "Are you still pouting?"

A surge of embarrassment had Momoshiro grinding his teeth, the strap of his bag weighing heavy on his shoulder. Today had been the most complete defeat he'd ever suffered against Kaidoh. Sure, he hadn't been at his best, but that didn't account for all of it. Kaidoh had been faster, his shots more precise, and that damned Boomerang Snake was hitting inside the box every single time now. Then Momo had lost his footing and fallen against his own racket, which meant a bruise that everyone would notice tomorrow.

Emotions rolling, he muttered under his breath, "Stupid Mamushi and his stupid extra special training."

Of course, Kaidoh heard him and had to jab back. "Is that why your sulking? It's not my fault if you can't keep up with me. If you weren't such a stupid powerhouse and actually used your head for once, maybe one of our senpai would work with you, too."

Although the two of them had always sparred, Momo had recently begun to think of the insults they brandied as an aggressive way of relating to one another rather than genuine spite. However, intentional or not, Kaidoh's last remark hit a surprisingly tender spot. Momo put a lot of effort into his technique, and even if he didn't run thirty kilometers a day, he still worked damn hard on fitness training, too. So maybe it did bother him a little that Kaidoh was getting extra attention from Inui, especially in the wake of a match like today's.

Angry, frustrated, wounded. He lifted his head, searching for something really scathing to say, but the sudden rev of an engine distracted him. The sidewalk they were on bordered a curving road, bathed in the light of streetlamps. Momoshiro hadn't realized it, but they were just passing a beautiful motorcycle, glistening beetle green with a sound like the roar of an animal. It was just the kind of thing Momoshiro wanted to trade his bicycle in for one day, and he stopped for a moment to admire it.

The bike's owner swung over his leg and dismounted. In a way, he was just as interesting as the vehicle he'd been riding. He was older, probably in his twenties, with a heavy leather jacket flung over his shoulders and his hair greased back in a flippant style. There was just the hint of a tattoo peeking out of his collar, and as he moved, broad shoulders rolled with easy, athletic motion.

He grinned at them. "What are two young guys like you doing wandering around so late?"

The tone was friendly, casual, and Momoshiro answered without thinking. "We were playing tennis."

Beside him, Kaidoh hissed. "Let's go," he muttered, but Momo ignored him. Gee, what was his problem?

The older guy approached. "Tennis, huh? Actually, I play a little myself." He reached out and squeezed Momo's upper arm through the sleeve of his tee-shirt. "You seem pretty strong."

_F__or a kid,_ the words flashed in his eyes, but Momo didn't take offence. Instead, he flexed a little, boasting. "Oh, yeah. No one better."

He expected Kaidoh to do that stupid snake thing and say something derogatory about his ego, but Kaidoh was being oddly quiet. Maybe he was jealous. After all, nobody was paying any attention to him.

The stranger, meanwhile, was chuckling at Momo's bravado. "Well," he said. "If that's true, I wouldn't mind testing your skills sometime."

There was the click of a car door opening, and three guys got out of another vehicle parked on the curb, one with windows so dark that Momo hadn't realized anyone was in it. One of them, a guy wearing a cap pushed far back on his head, said, "Who's the good looking kid, Fujita?"

"We were just getting around to introductions," the man answered. His hand had gravitated to Momoshiro's shoulder, and he squeezed. "I'm Fujita Ren."

Throwing back his shoulders in an attempt to look older than he felt, Momo said, "Momoshiro Takeshi, Seishun Gakuen Junior High."

For some reason Kaidoh cursed under his breath, which caused Fujita to glance his way. His smile faded as he asked, "And your friend?"

Momoshiro waited for Kaidoh to give his name, but he didn't. Instead he jabbed Momo hard in the side, snarling, "We need to go. Right now."

Irritated by the pushy attitude, Momo frowned. However, Fujita quickly had his attention again. "You know, I wouldn't mind seeing something from a school as famous as Seishun Gakuen."

The idea of playing tennis with someone so much older had immediate appeal. Momo loved challenges, and the sting of his recent defeat was still with him. "Sure," he said. "We're at the street-tennis court a few blocks over all the time."

Fujita made a tsking sound. "Why not now? There's a gym we know nearby that has an indoor court. We could head over there, play a few games."

Momoshiro considered. He was exhausted from a long day of practice and training with Kaidoh. Besides, it was already dark. There weren't a lot of places open so late, which probably meant they planned to sneak in after hours. Still, the forbidden nature of such an exploit made a shiver of excitement to go through him.

"Won't the lights be out? How would we get in?"

"Oh, my friend over there has his ways," Fujita said. "So what do you say, Momoshiro? You feel like a little excitement?"

"_No_!" Kaidoh suddenly snapped, startling everyone present.

Fujita's eyes narrowed. "I see. Well, maybe it is a little late for kids to be out. Past your bedtime."

The jab went straight to Momo's pride and hung on like a stinger. Mind made up, he said. "It's not that late. No one's expecting me for a while. I could go out."

For some reason, the smiles the older guys were wearing grew wider. Kaidoh swore again. Fujita said, "Great. Shall we go, then?"

Setting his bag more firmly against his shoulder, Momo started to ask for directions, but Kaidoh seemed intent on ruining everything. He actually had the audacity to yank Momo's arm. Finally, Momoshiro had it. He snapped, "Stop it. What's your problem, anyway?"

"Idiot," Kaidoh hissed. His voice had taken on a sharp, insistent note. "They do not want to play tennis with you!"

Momoshiro wasn't listening. He was still hurting from Kaidoh's insults from earlier, and the idea of hanging out with these older, cooler guys was intriguing. Their attention felt good, and the fact that they'd invited _him_ and not Kaidoh was even better. He was tired of dealing with this guy. Let him walk home by himself.

"We could give you a ride," the guy with the cap offered.

One of them opened the car door, beckoning, and though a wave of misgiving made Momoshiro hesitate, he took a step toward the vehicle. Only to find his path blocked by Kaidoh. Momoshiro opened his mouth to demand he move, but froze at the look on Kaidoh's face. His eyes were sulfuric, and his expression was taut with warning. There was absolutely no yield in it, only resolution. Stunned, Momo's mouth went dry.

Without breaking eye contact, Kaidoh spoke over his shoulder. "He is not coming with you."

The interference made uneasy ripples. Fujita openly sneered. "Does your boyfriend make all your decisions for you? We aren't going to wait all night. Are you coming, or not?"

Kaidoh hadn't even flinched at the boyfriend jab; if anything his gaze had gotten more intent. He was tenser than Momo had ever seen him, and it was setting off alarm bells through every vein in Momo's body. Belatedly, he realized that the situation didn't just feel strained; it felt dangerous. Finally backing off a step, he looked Fujita in the face. "Not."

If the uneasy feeling hadn't been enough to convince him, the way Fujita's face contorted certainly did. His lip peeled back, his expression distorted, and he took one step toward the two boys before one of his companions stopped him.

"Come on, Fujita," he said, eyeing Kaidoh warily. "We don't want trouble. Is this punk worth the effort?"

Fujita's eyes raked over Momoshiro in way that made it seem like he was deciding just that, and Momo was suddenly very uncomfortable. As one, both he and Kaidoh took another step back. Fujita must have seen the shift, because he spat off to the side and turned his back. "I guess not. Let's go."

The sound of car doors slamming shut, the motorcycle engine turning over. The shadows under the street lamps caught on glossy surfaces, and then they were gone, just a few orange lights fading into the darkness and the sound of a distant roar. Momoshiro watched them go. On the one hand, he was relieved, but he was also confused. Why did he feel like he'd just dodged a bullet?

Eyebrows shoving together, he turned to confront Kaidoh about his weird behavior, but found himself grunting as his back hit the stone wall bordering the sidewalk. Kaidoh shoved him again for good measure, snarling, "You absolute idiot!"

Heat flooded Momo's face as anger pulsed through him. "What the hell, Kaidoh?"

His fingers itched to shove the other boy back, but the urge died when Kaidoh bent over, hands on his knees. He was suddenly panting, as though had just finished a long run. Worried, Momo reached out his hand, only to have it slapped away. Kaidoh whirled on him, pinning him with that same hard look of grave seriousness from before. "You scared me to death. What did you think you were doing?"

Momoshiro was starting to feel a little nauseated. An inkling of just how bad this situation might have been was beginning to occur to him, and he didn't like to admit that his pride had almost gotten him into serious trouble. And it was Kaidoh who had bailed him out. "So, maybe that wasn't so smart," he admitted.

"You think?" Kaidoh said, but he was leaning against the wall now, and exhaled heavily, hand over his heart. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to get into strange people's cars?"

They had. Of course they had. He'd heard that stuff all the time as kid, but for some reason he hadn't thought about it like that. He'd been angry with Kaidoh, and flattered by the attention, and maybe all that had made him a little stupid. He looked down, suddenly glad he hadn't been walking alone after all. "Ah," he started, knowing he should apologize, even if it did stick in his throat.

However, in a rare magnanimous gesture, Kaidoh didn't make him. Instead, he stood up and turned, waiting for Momo to join him shoulder-for-shoulder so they could go home. The stars overhead trembled as the dark lengthened. The more he walked, the more Momo realized, and he started to shake. Finally, he couldn't stay silent any longer.

"Kaidoh," he said, concentrating on the sound of their sneakers on the pavement. He hesitated. "Thanks."

In response, a sharp elbow collided with his ribs hard enough to bruise. "Just shut up about it. And don't _ever_ do anything like that again."

Momoshiro nodded readily, gratitude welling up and washing out the residual anxiety and resentment. He shoved Kaidoh back, just a little, with his shoulder. "Sure, Mamaushi."

* * *

Author's Note:

Inspired by the lower classman's initial reaction to Yamado in (107) _The Captain Appears_, although there are actually plenty of creepy adults in the _Prince of Tennis _series (_Hanamura_, emphatically). Mostly though, I was just thinking about how invincible teenage boys tend to believe they are. Of the two of them, I think Kaidoh more likely than Momo to keep his head in a situation like this, which allowed me to stymie the story before it got much darker.


	22. Daring

**Daring**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Placeholder Tennis Player  
Summary: A very young Momoshiro gets lost, but fortunately for him, an adolescent tennis player finds him wandering around in front of some vending machines.

* * *

Shouya was taking a short jog to warm up for his upcoming match when he realized he was thirsty. Spotting a vending machine, he detoured toward it. There was the usual crowd for a day of tennis – young people in various school uniforms, the odd parent, and plenty of kids. Yet, as Shouya turned the corner, he was surprised to see one particular kid sitting with his back against the machines.

The kid was little, probably too young for elementary school yet, wearing overalls over a blue t-shirt with a picture of a star. He had a head of dark, unruly hair and was kicking his heels against the concrete. What was strange was that there were absolutely no adults around. He seemed to be alone.

"Oye, kid," he said.

The boy looked at him, up and up from his distant place on the ground, and his eyes began to swell. Recognizing the threat of tears, Shouya swore, realized that he'd just cussed in front of a kid, and almost swore again. He put up his hands. "Hey, don't get upset. I just wanted to make sure you're okay. What are you doing here?"

He meant, _what are you doing here by yourself_, but that wasn't the question the kid answered. Instead, the boy looked up at the brightly colored vending machine. "It's hot. I got thirsty, but the buttons don't work."

Shouya wondered the merits of trying to explain money to a preschool kid, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. Instead, he fished around in his pocket, chiding himself for being such a pushover. "Here," he said, holding out a coin. "Put this in the machine first, then try."

Delight sprung up in the kid's bright eyes, which were an unusual color that Shouya couldn't recall seeing before. He hopped up and grabbed the coin, but encountered another problem. The wheels turned, and then the kid looked at Shouya. "Ano," he said. "It's high. Could you lift me?"

Shouya's eye twitched. Hadn't this kid's parents ever told him not to trust strangers? Still, he knelt and gestured to his knee. "I'll give you a boost."

In the end, the kid was gulping down his juice, which he finished with a sigh of satisfaction. Someone must have taught him some manners, because he looked up at Shouya and smiled a wide, sweet smile. "Thank you."

Another pang, this time of concern. Damn, what a cute kid. And definitely too young to be hanging around vending machines, accepting money from anybody who came along. What if Shouya had been a creep? He could have whisked the kid away into a bathroom stall or the back of his car or something. Troubled, Shouya asked, "Where's your parents? It's not safe to stay here by yourself."

The kid frowned and cast his eyes around. "There was a funny noise. I went to look, and the playground got lost." Rubbing the back of his hand across his nose, the kid gave a sniff. He reached for the hem of Shouya's shirt, making a tight, needy fist. "Do you know where it's at?"

Shouya did not know where the playground was. He thought it was on the other side of the park, which meant this kid had wandered a long way. But what should he do now? He was due on the court.

"_This is the second call for Sato Shouya to court 4. We are waiting for you to report."_

Second call? Shouya's heart pounded. Had he been so distracted that he had missed the first? He had about two minutes, or they were going to disqualify him. His coach was probably ready to blow his top already. He looked at the kid, who was still clutching the hem of his shirt and looking up at him with dewy eyes. There was no way he could just hand him off to some random person. What if he ended up with a pervert?

Finally, in total frustration, he went down on his knees. "Listen, kid, do you know what that is?" He spread his hand, encompassing the bright green tennis courts, the pop-pop of the ball, and the faint cry of _thirty-love_ by a distant chair umpire.

The kid stuck his finger in his mouth. "Ball game," he answered.

Shouya bit his lip, but decided that was close enough. "Yeah, sure. It's a ball game, and it's my turn to play. If I don't go right now, I'll lose."

The kid's eyes widened. "Don't lose."

"Uh, yeah, I won't. But I do have to go right now, so here's what we're going to do." He grabbed the kid's hand and started walking, towing him along. They entered the fenced in area which was meant for players only, and Shouya ushered the kid toward the bench. "You sit right here ," he said. "My game will only take half an hour, maybe a little longer. Then, afterwards, we'll go look for your mom and dad, okay?"

The kid looked uncertain, but he pulled himself up onto the bench anyway. His feet dangled high above the ground. "Okay."

Just, okay? Lord, how had this kid not been abducted already? Shouya wanted to pull his hair in exasperation, but he didn't have time to worry. His coach looked like he was going to have a coronary, and his buddy Saito was already holding out his racket. He hurried onto the court, offering sincere apologies to his opponent and the official for the wait. Then the game began, and he forgot all about some strange kid he'd picked up next to the vending machines.

It took forty minutes, but he finally took the match 6-4. Relieved, dripping with sweat, Shouya sighed and straightened his shoulders. Then he headed back to the bench and his teammates. Only to see the kid and remember that, damn, he had meant to keep an eye him. He searched the kid's face, wondering if he was upset, but what he saw instead surprised him.

The boy's eyes were stretched to their maximum width, and two small hands were gripping the fence. Shouya wondered what the hell he was looking at with such captivation. Coming inside, he said, "Sorry that took so long. You okay?"

"What's this game called?"

Shouya plopped down on the bench. "Tennis. Why?"

The kid was gazing at his racket. Tentatively, he touched the rim. "Can I hold it?"

"Uh, sure." Shouya handed it to him. The boy turned it over and over, until finally he settled for holding the net in front of his face. He grinned, showing a mouth full of baby teeth. Shouya scratched his head. Whatever.

His coach came up to them. "This why you were late? You aren't supposed to bring spectators in here, even family."

"He's not mine," Shouya said, but then he realized how that sounded, and stammered a revision. "I mean, he was wandering around by himself, and I didn't want to leave him. I'm going to take him back to his parents right now."

Coach didn't seemed to understand what he meant by _wandering around_, because he nodded without interest. "Fine. Go ahead and take him back, but tell your folks that they need to keep him next time. No non-team members. Got it?"

It didn't seem worth the effort to explain, so Shouya just grabbed the kid. They walked toward the tennis center where there was sure to be a phone and maybe, if he were lucky, a police officer. The boy, for his part, seemed unbothered. His entire focus was on the racket he had refused to relinquish, which he now carried under his arm. Never mind that the handle was practically dragging on the ground.

"Hey, kid," Shouya asked, as something rather vital occurred to him. "What's your name?"

Bright eyes flashed up at him. "I'm Takeshi, but all my friends call me Momo."

All his friends, huh? "It that your family name, Momo?"

"_No_," Momo said, like that was the weirdest thing in the world. "My family name's Momo_shiro_."

Shouya suppressed a roll of the eyes. Oh, of course. They had almost reached the center when a frantic voice reached them over the general noise of the milling crowds. A man wearing glasses came running, and when he reached them, he grabbed up Momo into his arms. "_Takeshi_," he said. "There you are. I've been looking for you for over two hours."

Two hours, huh. Shouya started to get mad. Once again, he thought about what could have happened to a trusting kid like Momo, and it made him feel sick. Forgetting how rude it would sound, he said, "You should keep better track of your kid."

The man noticed him for the first time. He looked Shouya up and down. "You found Takeshi?"

"He plays tennis!" Momo shouted, waving the racket. "Look! I wanna play tennis, too. Can I?"

His father gave him an exasperated but fond look that seemed to indicate how often his kid pushed him to the limit. After just a short time, Shouya could relate. He sighed, giving up on anger. "Just give me back the racket. I've got to get back to my team."

For a second, it seemed like Momo might refuse, but one look from his dad and he was reluctantly handing it over. "But I like tennis," he said. "I really, really like it."

Shouya unexpected felt his heart tugging. To get rid of the feeling, he said, "Why don't you get your own racket. Then you can learn to play."

Momo considered, and then broke out into another one of those big, toothy smiles. "Then I'll win the game," he said.

Shouya had to work very hard not to grin. "Sure, kid. Then you'll win the game."

He waved as they parted ways, and as Momo and his dad faded in the distance, Shouya couldn't help but think that with a spirit for adventure like that, maybe one day he really would be hearing the name Momoshiro Takashi in the world of tennis.

* * *

Author's Note:

Momoshiro's introduction to tennis, based on no episode or cannon character whatsoever. I'm a middle school teacher; I just catch myself writing about moody, sensitive kids showing their hidden character sometimes, and Shouya is modeled after them. As for little Momo, he was already able to beat older players when he first gets to Seigaku (see episode 167), which means he played in elementary school at least. So when did it start? I meant to write about his first tennis lesson, but this came out instead.


	23. Confidence

**Confidence**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Tezuka  
Summary: Vice-captain Tezuka is upset when he overhears that one of the freshmen players is getting hazed, but what he finds on the tennis court isn't exactly history repeating itself.

* * *

"Did you hear? One of the regulars is playing a freshman on court D. They're saying it's a slaughter!"

"Really? Let's go watch before it's over."

Straightening from his position by the water fountain, Vice-captain Tezuka narrowed his eyes. Although he hadn't meant to eavesdrop, he was disturbed by what he'd overheard. A certain amount of hazing was to be expected, but for the first time he had the authority to do something about it. Yet would it be overstepping his boundaries, interfering in a petty dispute? His shoulder twinged as a reminder of how much he detested bullying. In the end, he couldn't ignore it.

As he approached the court, he saw that a crowd had gathered in front of the fence. Tezuka joined them, grateful for his newly acquired height, which allowed him to see without having to push to the front.

"Amazing," one of the sophomores muttered. "He's won every game."

Tezuka directed his attention onto the court, where he expected to see a humiliated lower classman holding back tears while ball after ball was fired around his head. Instead, the first thing to catch his eye was of one of the new regulars, a braggart named Mori who had been boasting about ranking in the school tournament. It wasn't a surprise to see him in the middle of this. However, Tezuka was mystified to find him panting heavily, his shirt sweat-soaked and dirty.

"Dorya!" An unknown voice shouted, and Tezuka turned his head in time to see the freshman student on the other side of the court return a shot with control far beyond the level of his opponent.

Mori made a desperate save, which deflected the ball into a lob. Tezuka highly doubted that Mori had intended to make that shot, but it would land deep on the line and take the point. Yet as the ball made its approach, Tezuka was surprised to see the freshman smiling. His weight shifted, and then he jumped.

High and higher, with his racket at the ready. It struck the ball just as it reached it's height, completing a midair smash into the opposite court. Mori tried to return it, but his racket went flying out of his hand. He stared, then looked back over the net to where the first year was crouched. The boy pointed. "Don!"

The crowd made noises of alarm and amazement, everyone talking at once. "The kid's name is Momoshiro," someone said. "Momoshiro Takeshi."

It was at that point that Tezuka realized the freshman was looking straight at him. Obviously, he knew who Tezuka was and didn't mind being caught in action. If anything, the boy's grin grew even wider, and he gave a cheeky salute that was full of confidence.

But not of arrogance, for the next moment he was at the net offering his hand to Mori. "Lucky! That was a great lob, Senpai. I don't think I could hit it again."

Mollified, Mori accepted the handshake, admitting, "No, you beat me completely. I underestimated you."

"Hee," Momoshiro laughed, an uncomplicated, charming sound. Smiles broke out spontaneously around it, even on the face of the beaten Mori.

Tezuka felt his anxiety easing. The brat was talented, but he obviously wasn't going to make enemies here. Unlike Tezuka, he had the sort of charisma that disarmed antagonism. Even more interesting from the point of view of a captain was the fact that his smash had _not_ been lucky, and if the boy proved to be as capable as he was powerful, then Tezuka might be looking at a future regular.

A faint smile touched Tezuka's lips. A few more up-and-coming members like this one, and he would be closer to taking Seigaku to the Nationals than ever.

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on the flashback match in episode (167) _Eternal Rivals_. Also based on episode (112), because it's impossible for Momoshiro's opponents to stay upset with him. Especially for someone with such a "rude" speech pattern, it amuses me that he can be so tactful. Well, at least if you compare him to sweethearts like Ryoma and Kaidoh.


	24. Regret

**Regret**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Kaidoh  
Summary: Kaidoh loses his temper, but he can't bring himself to apologize.

* * *

Kaidoh and Momo had never had what one might call a _peaceful_ relationship. A good part of their interaction was (so far as everyone else was concerned) pointless aggression and posturing. So much so that the occasional swing at one another was fairly common. Hell, even shirt-clinching, bone-shaking, full-throated tantrums weren't out of the question. Yet even so, Kaidoh knew he'd gone too far when he struck Momoshiro across the face with his tennis racket.

It wasn't the court's sudden silence that brought him back to his senses, or even the flush of satisfaction that spread through him in the wake of the bow. No, it was Momoshiro's face, already streaked sanguine where the edge of the racket had caught him. Not the injury, but the expression behind it_. _It wasn't the face of an enemy about to retaliate, or even that of a perpetual rival who deserved what he got. Kaidoh didn't know exactly what that face meant. Wordlessly, Momoshiro turned to leave the court.

The hand that came down on Kaidoh's shoulder startled him. "That was excessive, Kaidoh." Inui's face was as unreadable as most other times, but Kaidoh knew him, and the corners of his mouth were tight with disapproval. Kaidoh looked back toward the club house, around which Momoshiro had disappeared. There was a tiny, rotating knife point making a slow, stinging hole in his chest. The pain built until it became unbearable.

"Let go of me." He pushed away and stalked past the other players, all of whom were studiously blank except for Echizen, whose glare was far beyond his usual indifference.

It wasn't until he got past the building and stooped, hands on his knees, that he realized he was breathing hard. His racket was still clinched in his fist, and he felt the sudden urge to throw it away from him. Instead, he headed toward the fountains. He didn't hear any water, but unless Momoshiro had gone directly home, he was still around here somewhere.

Kaidoh found him hunched over the sink, a wet cloth pressed beneath his fingers. The welt on his cheek had turned livid red, and Kaidoh winced. He struggled to say something, but couldn't find any words.

"You're a real jerk, you know that?"

Momoshiro's voice wasn't as loud as he was used to, but Kaidoh was so relieved to have the silence broken that he just made a hostile "che" sound between his teeth and ducked his head. He felt both defensive and vulnerable. The walls of the school buildings around them seemed to shrink inward. He wanted to leave, but didn't feel like he could. He was supposed to say he was sorry.

The minutes stretched. Without turning, Momoshiro sighed. He threw the towel over his shoulder and headed back toward the tennis courts. "Whatever, Mamushi."

The streak of red faded into a bruise that stayed on Momoshiro's face for more than a week. Kaidoh averted his eyes and refused to look at it during that time, but the knowledge that it was there remained a weight on his back. Shame.

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on episodes (16) _Boomerang Snake, _as well as (29) _Momo and Viper_. Early in the series, Kaidoh has a _really_ bad temper; he shocked me when he took a swing at Kamio in (16), an outburst which made me think a scenario like this one was possible. Kaidoh would have regretted it, I think, but during the first season I don't know if he could have brought himself to make amends either. Just messing around with stepping stones in a relationship.


	25. Trust

**Trust**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Oishi, Katsuo  
Summary: Oishi takes Momoshiro out to a café to have a discussion about the future of the Seigaku tennis club.

* * *

A bead of perspiration dropped onto the printed form pinned to the clipboard. Hastily wiped away, it nonetheless left a rippling pattern, right over the eighth name down – _Ikeda Masaya, 3.5, second year_. Oishi sighed, wiping his forehead with the back of his wrist. He didn't know which was making him sweat more: the blistering August heat or the task at hand.

He was looking at a roster of the first and second-year tennis club members. Inui had handed it to him at the end of practice today.

"Something to think about," he said offhandedly, as though he were passing along something no more important than an equipment receipt or a duty roster.

Of course, it was much more than that. The near future loomed, beyond the tournament season. To himself, Oishi murmured, "The summer has gone so fast."

He looked at the roster again, with its column of names. Most couldn't take even one game against the regulars. Was he the only one worried they wouldn't have enough time before next year? Although the sun was finally sinking lower, the heat was a weight on his shoulders. Drawing a towel over his face, Oishi exhaled deeply and dropped the clipboard into his bag. Time to go home.

He headed toward the school gates, past the clubhouse, which he checked by habit. To his surprise, the door was unlocked. A shadow moved at his back, and he turned.

"Katsuo?"

The younger boy froze, his racket held in front of him like a shield, but he slumped when he saw who it was. "Oh, Oishi-senpai," he said, sounding relieved. "It's you."

"What are you doing here so late? Everyone else has gone home."

Katsuo ran his hand over his close-shaven head. "Well, I don't get to practice as much as the others. Kachiro plays with his dad at the tennis club, and Horio already has some experience." They shared a rueful grin, thinking of the plaintive, insistent crythey heard so often. "Anyway, Momo-chan-senpai and I were talking about it, and he said he'd help me."

"Momo?"

More bashful squirming. Katsuo scuffed his toe in the dirt. "Yeah. It's embarrassing, but he doesn't get mad when we make mistakes, and he won't tease me. You won't tell anyone, right, Oishi-senpai?"

Oishi considered. He knew, of course, that Momoshiro was friends with Echizen, whose temperament and upbringing lead him to mostly disregard the age difference between them. However, he hadn't considered these other three, who were truly Momo's kohai. Did he regularly met with them for things like this?

"Of course not, Katsuo," he promised. "Everyone feels shy in the beginning. Keep working on your skills, and I'm sure you're feel more confident in no time."

"Thank you, Oishi-senpai!"

It was probably wrong for him to circle around behind the courts without being seen, yet Oishi couldn't help but observe for a few minutes. Momoshiro had to as be tired and achy as him, yet he fed ball after ball without complaint, offering encouragement when Katsuo struggled with his form or footwork. His voice carried to the trees as he gently guided his student around the court so he could practice the different shots, and a feeling of calm came over Oishi.

Something must have shown on his face, because when he drew himself up to sit on the edge of the metal container in the park, Eiji learned over and commented, "What's with that look, Oishi? You were super stressed after practice, but you're totally different now."

"I'm just happy," he had responded.

Later, once club activities had shifted towards preparations for Nationals, Oishi took his chance. "Momo," he said one day after practice. "Are you busy?"

The lanky teenager scratched his head. "No, Oishi-senpai. Why? Do you need me to run an errand?"

Oishi noticed that Tezuka looked up from where he was tying the laces of his tennis shoes, but kept his eyes steady on his younger teammate. "Actually, I was hoping you'd come along with me today."

"Sure, sure," Momo agreed easily. "Just let me tell Echizen so he can take my bike."

While he went off to deliver this message, Tezuka straightened. "What are you doing, Oishi?"

"Doing?"

"You don't usually favor anyone."

"That's not what this is about," Oishi said, putting his hands on his waist. "Although it's a lot more subtle than meeting someone for a duel in the middle of nowhere, or forcing someone to run thousands and thousands of laps. Honestly."

The slight twitch of Tezuka's eyebrow was somewhat satisfying. It wasn't often that he succeeded in penetrating his captain's stoic demeanor. "The freshmen?"

"Yes," he answered. "You heard about that?"

"Inui told me."

Oishi sighed, looking at the ground. "The tournament season is almost over, Tezuka. Can you believe that? But win or lose, we're not going to be here next year."

"And you're thinking Momoshiro will be your successor?"

It was about more than just Katsuo. Oishi had been thinking about it for days, watching Momoshiro with new perspective. He was beloved by the lower classman, who admired him and trusted him. His peers didn't resent his talents, and he was a good balance for Kaidoh, who was also destined to be a large part of the club's future.

"I trust him," he said simply.

"And what exactly do you intend to say?"

Oishi had given that a lot of thought, too, but he didn't plan on sharing it. In a strange way, it wasn't possible for someone like Tezuka to understand. Yet he was sure Momoshiro would. He saw the sophomore returning from the clubhouse. "See you later, Tezuka," he said, and left his captain to speculation.

He set a causal pace, allowing Momoshiro to fall in beside him. Momo hummed and looked around at the people they passed, smiling at anyone who caught his eye. He was a natural charismatic, and had absolutely none of the enigmatic reserve of a Tezuka, Fuji, or even a Kaidoh. He was amiable. Uncomplicated. Easily misjudged as ordinary.

Rather like Oishi himself.

"Where are we going, Senpai?" Momo seemed to have finally gotten his fill of aimless wandering. "Are we going shopping? Scouting? Or maybe you just wanted to buy me a hamburger."

His grin was one part hopeful and one part sly. Eiji had been caught in that trap before, and ended up with an empty wallet. Oishi surprised him, however. "I am a little hungry. But how about we go to a café instead? There's a nice one just around the corner."

It was his planned destination, actually. Out of the way, not too often frequented by junior high students. They wouldn't be interrupted.

"Um." Momo glanced over his shoulder, scanning a nearby strand of bushes. "Well, okay, I guess."

They reached the café and took a seat by the window. It was a beautiful day outside, with high, clear skies and wisps of cloud calligraphy. Momo ordered a parfait with whipped cream, and Oishi asked for coffee. He intended to wait until they finished, but Momoshiro had other ideas.

"So, what's this about, Oishi-senpai?" His smile was direct, but it carried an edge. "You didn't just invite me to hang out, did you?"

Actually no, although that surprising perception was part of it. Oishi stayed on the baseline, out of the spotlight, but at all times he was watching the court, waiting for an opportunity. Momo could do that. He could look out for a team.

"I wanted to talk to you about next year."

There was a pause in which Momo stirred his spoon around the bottom of his empty glass. "You mean after you and the other senpai are gone."

"Yes." Oishi nodded. He already had a stack of brochures to some of Tokyo and Kanto region's best schools, and he knew that the other third-years were also thinking about it. He and Eiji had spent the last weekend going through them together. "We won't be around forever, no matter how Nationals go."

Momo's hands fisted, and a huge, fierce grin broke out on his face. "We're going to win Nationals, Oishi-senpai. I can feel it."

To do so would be the culmination of his and Tezuka's dream for Seigaku since their first year. To accomplish it, with this group, would certainly be a highlight of his life. Which is why Oishi let his own hands clench together under the table as he said, "I think so, too."

Understanding filled up the next few moments. Oishi sipped his coffee. Momo looked out the window, unusually contemplative. Finally, he turned and said, "Oishi-senpai. Put me and Kaidoh together in doubles."

The request startled him. Oishi set down his cup. "You want to play doubles. With Kaidoh."

"I think we need to." Momo picked at the surface of the table, then looked directly at Oishi. "We haven't won together yet, not when it counts."

Ah, so that was it, then. It was true that their match again Rikkaidai had been one of the best he'd ever seen. His heart had literally squeezed with every return Momo made while his partner remained paralyzed, and when they had finally arrived, together, on that court, it had been incredible. They had been outmatched, true, but no matter how good that battle had been, it seemed Momoshiro wanted to win with Kaidoh during national play.

Trust, Oishi had once told Momo, was the key to successful doubles. It was also the key to truly successful leadership. Momoshiro was asking for one final chance to build that trust before it had meaning both on and off the court. Oishi laughed inwardly. He could hardly believe how much Momoshiro had matured. Could this really be the brash, flashy singles player he'd been just a year ago?

"I'll speak with Tezuka and Ryuuzaki-sensei," he promised. "But I didn't ask you here to talk about Nationals."

"Oh?" Momo wondered. His head fell to the side. "What then?"

"I want to talk to you about the vice-captain position," he said bluntly. "Do you want it?"

Stunned silence. The quiet conversation of the café and the click of the dishes in the back filled the empty spaces. Steam hissed from the espresso machine, a faint, far-off laugh. After a moment, Momoshiro asked, "You want me to be vice-captain?"

"Next year, yes," Oishi said. "I want you to take my place. But maybe you're offended. Were you hoping to be captain instead?"

Eyebrows drawing together, Momo answered honestly. "I've noticed Tezuka-bucho has been working Kaidoh extra hard recently."

So intuitive, though he didn't often let on about it. Seeing the conflicted expression on Momo's face, Oishi said, "Vice-captain isn't about being second-best, Momo. As you probably noticed, I'm not second-best. I'm not even a close third. Compared to most of the others, I'm a weak tennis player."

Momo's head jerked up, his eyes taking on a smolder. "You're not weak, Oishi-senpai."

Oishi felt strong affection for Momo. His genuine esteem felt good. "The point I was trying to make is that club leadership isn't determined only by ability. Vice-captain plays a different role than captain, and I think you would fit it best."

"Why?"

That wasn't a hard question. Oishi had been thinking about the answer for days. "Tezuka leads from a pinnacle, a summit the rest of us try to ascend. The fact that he is so untouchable makes him inspiring. In fact, I used to think if anyone beat him, it could be a mortal blow to the entire team."

Head lowered slightly, Momo folded his arms. "I'm not like that," he concluded.

Oishi felt a pang. Was he mishandling this? Hurting Momoshiro wasn't his intention, yet he told himself not to underestimate Momo. If he couldn't handle a blow to his pride now and then, he wouldn't be the man Oishi was looking for.

"Momoshiro," he said. "If Seigaku had only a Tezuka, we would never survive."

Eyes lifted, a question written in them.

"All pillars eventually come down. We're all human," Oishi said. "And people need more than a something to strive for. They need community, support, encouragement. Younger classmates need to feel cared for. Peers need to feel validated, connected. That's not a job for a Tezuka or a Kaidoh. That's a job for a Momoshiro."

He waited, certain that if he had chosen rightly, this would turn out the way he hoped. He leaned forward.

"Momo, I want to entrust my team to you. Will you please take care of them for me?"

Oishi could see that Momoshiro was moved. Though he had a tough exterior, Momo was an emotional guy, and his eyes had become suspiciously glassy. Somewhat thickly, he said, "Okay, Oishi-senpai. If you think I can, then I will."

A deep sigh. Relief. Oishi answered, "I wouldn't have anyone else."

The moment broke in half, and the emotion drained out slowly, returning the café and its atmosphere to normal. The clink of glasses seemed light and cheerful. Oishi was grinning so hard his face hurt. That had been weighing down on him for a longer than he realized.

Not that there wasn't still work to do. "It's still early in the day," he said. "Would you like to find a court and work on doubles, Momo? There's a lot I could tell you that might help with your next match."

"There may be a slight problem." Momoshiro was gazing out the window again, looking wry. "I'm pretty sure we were followed."

"Followed?" Oishi's eyebrows flew up. "Why?"

A cheeky grin lit up Momoshiro's face, and he laughed. "Well, you did ask me out in front of the whole club, Oishi-senpai. They probably couldn't resist. Inui's a real stalker, you know?"

Oishi's face got hot with anger and embarrassment. Was it possible he hadn't noticed? He looked out the window, trying to see. Ah, there! He'd know that green bandana anywhere.

"Oh, Kaidoh, too," Momoshiro said, propping his chin on his hand. "He's usually too shy to be much of a voyeur. I'm surprised."

"Do you all do this often?" Oishi wanted to know. But now that he thought about it, he couldn't really find it in him to be surprised. Hadn't he followed Momoshiro when he went out with Tachibana's younger sister? Sighing, he muttered, "Well, damn."

Momoshiro giggled. "Oishi-senpai, I've never heard you swear before."

"Our whole club is a bunch of gossiping old women." Considering, he wondered, "Is it even possible to convince them they misunderstood?"

"I wouldn't bother," Momoshiro said. He stood, extending his hand. "Well, since the damage is already done…take Seigaku's future vice-capain to the movies, Oishi-senpai? I want popcorn."

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on the _New Prince of Tennis _episode (4), wherein Tezuka and Atobe play against future captains Kaidoh and Hiyoshi. Also based on _Another Story – Messages from the Past and Future_, wherein Seigaku's new leadership is tested. Oishi's on screen involvement in all this is minimal, but I wanted him to have a heart-to-heart with his successor. As for the end, well, just watch (24), (38), or (71) and when you're done laughing, come talk to me!


	26. Pain

Author's Note: Did you say you wanted more hurt!Momoshiro? Bam. You're welcome.

* * *

**Pain**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Tachibana, Fudomine, Kaidoh  
Summary: Tachibana comes to support his former team when they face Seigaku, but watching Momoshiro play summons a painful memory that brings out the protector in him.

* * *

Since he entered high school, Tachibana Kippei didn't get the opportunity to attend middle school games often. Still, he did make it a point to support his old team whenever he could, especially if they were paired against someone as promising as their former rivals, Seishun Gakuen. Today was just such an occasion.

Tachibana watched Kamio met Kaidoh over the net on behalf of their teams. Their handshake was unusually firm; not surprising, considering their history. Behind them, he saw mostly unfamiliar faces in the bright blue and white jerseys. Only Momoshiro stood out, standing beside an unknown adult. Tachibana raised an eyebrow. A new coach?

"An," he asked. "Do you know who that man is?"

His sister was brushing her hair carefully from her face. Her team had spent the spring semester traveling, and she had a hard time pulling her eyes away from Momoshiro. However, when she did, he was surprised to see a worried frown instead of pink cheeks.

"Does he seem a little sad to you, Onii-chan?" she asked.

Tachibana looked again, and saw what she meant. It wasn't just that he looked sad. There was an air of preoccupation around Momoshiro, a disengagement. He wasn't sure what that look meant, but it wasn't regular. "Shinji," he spoke, addressing the young man beside him. "You're friends with Momoshiro, aren't you?"

Ibu glanced over. "Kamio used to play doubles with him, and we sometimes met at the street-tennis courts. We also ran into him at the tennis shop I like. They have my favorite grip tape. Since Echizen isn't here, I don't have to share it."

The rambling response wasn't really an answer; Tachibana sought clarification. "So you see him fairly often?"

"Not anymore," Ibu said, shaking his head. "When I saw him last, he said he had things to do for his coach. Both of us have more club responsibilities. Kamio is lazy, and he always makes me lock up the clubhouse. Sometimes I'm upset about it, but –"

"Shinji," Tachibana interrupted.

"Sorry."

Doubles was starting. Seigaku first sent out a pair of nervous sophomores who, through teamwork, squeezed out a narrow victory. Then Fudomine's capable Mori-Uchimura pair took the second match 6-0. Finally Ishida, his white bandana bright under the sun, approached the net for the first singles match.

"I hoped it would be you," he said as he shook hands with his opponent. He searched for a smile. "Although I don't know if I'm a match for Seigaku's vice-captain."

Momoshiro grasped Ishida's hand firmly, but he didn't quite summon up the lighthearted geniality of the year before. At most, his eyes seemed to soften. "Let's make it a good game."

Soon the ball eclipsed the sky, and Momoshiro proceeded to take three quick games. Yet it wasn't as one-sided as Tachibana had expected. Slowly, Ishida began to take back ground. He inched back to two games down, then only one. At first Tachibana was impressed, but soon he started to become uneasy.

With piercing discernment, he followed the set. To a player of his caliber, every movement had meaning. A hesitation or tiny awkward twist spoke volumes, and there was something wrong about the way Momoshiro was shifting. He glanced to the bench, where the unknown coach sat. He expected to see concern, but instead he found the man's expression rigid and unforgiving.

Tachibana gripped the links of the fence, his heart giving an inexplicable lurch. A dark inkling trickled into his mind, alongside an old memory. He needed to know if he was being paranoid. "Shinji, I want you to look carefully. Does Momoshiro seem like he's moving strangely to you?"

Uncertain, Ibu nonetheless studied their opponent. Tachibana saw the moment he became transfixed, his eyebrows folding into a sharp furrow. It threw off the register of his usually even voice, barely discernable to any but his former captain. "Is he hurt?"

Tachibana looked over toward the bench coach again. "Who is that with Seigaku?"

Leaning forward until the fence creaked, Ibu said, "Ryuzaki-san took a leave of absence. That's her replacement, Adachi-san. He's a Japanese pro."

"Former pro," Tachibana judged, even at a glance. "How long has he been with them?"

It took a moment to calculate. "At least four months."

A harsh, abbreviated sound, as close to swearing as Tachibana allowed himself. "So long?"

The look that Ibu directed at him took Tachibana back two years, to when he first met this determined group of players. Since then, Fudomine's team of misfits had come into their own, but he would never forget the bruises on their bodies or their downtrodden spirits. He looked back out onto the court.

An was upset. He could hear it in her shaking voice as she murmured, "I've never seen him play like this, not even before the Kanto tournament last year."

He'd heard her talk about what she loved most in Momoshiro's play style. It was his joy she admired, the passion he had for the game. Tachibana didn't see any of that now. Instead, Momoshiro looked like he was playing through pain, by willpower alone. Every wince Tachibana spotted, every fumble of his footing grew harder to watch. Finally, Ishida fired a powerful shot to the sideline, and although Momoshiro threw himself after the ball, it skipped just behind the rim of his racket. He went down hard, grit biting into his cheek.

The judge called, "Game Ishida, 5 games to 4. Change court."

Seigaku's coach stood from the bench, waiting for Momoshiro to recover from his painfully fall and trudge over to face him. From a distance, his words were inaudible, but the grip he took on his player's arm was unambiguous. Tachibana felt himself moving before he realized what he was doing.

The metal gate bounced, making a clanging noise as Tachibana entered the court and stalked toward Seigaku's interim coach. He demanded, "Take your hand off of him right now."

The words were so unexpected that they drew everyone's attention, including Coach Adachi. He was tall, about as tall as Tachibana, but with broader shoulders and the weight and musculature of a man who had kept up with his sport. Frowning, he said, "Are you Fudomine? Get off this court immediately."

The flummoxed chair umpire chimed in hesitantly. "I must ask you to clear the area. The match isn't over yet."

"You're wrong," Tachibana said. His eyes bore into Adachi. "This match is over. And it's not the only thing."

The veiled threat had the effect of enlivening Seigaku's coach, whose face flushed an apoplectic red. Eyes narrowed, he said, "You will apologize to me, and maybe I won't have your entire school disqualified for your disrespectfulness."

"Coach," Momoshiro spoke for the first time, an edge of panic in his voice. "Please, don't –"

"You be quiet!" Coach Adachi barked, and Tachibana could feel his entire team flinch behind his back, recognizing that tone. Kamio stood from the other bench. His startled look was gone. In its place was strong disapprobation, and whatever remaining doubts Tachibana had evaporated.

Meanwhile, Coach Adachi still had hold of Momoshiro. His hand fit easily around his student's arm, the fingers bearing in without consideration. It made Tachibana angry, but he kept his composure. Only his cold eyes gave away his true emotion. "I will ask you once more. Take your hand off him, or you will regret it."

Coach Adachi's nostrils flared. "Who do you think you are? I'm his coach."

"What kind of coach would play someone so injured?"

"What's going on?" The hoarse voice was immediately recognizable, and Tachibana dared to take his eyes off Momoshiro long enough to see Kaidoh coming to join them. He stalked over, face twisted with irritation, and demanded, "What are you doing here, and why are you interfering?"

"There's something more important than a match that needs to be dealt with," Tachibana answered. "After all, it's a very serious offence when a coach has been mistreating one of his players."

Tachibana hadn't thought it possible for Momoshiro to become paler, but at these words he turned downright ghastly, and the bob of his throat was clearly visible as he swallowed.

Coach Adachi finally let go of his white-knuckled grip, falling back a step. "How _dare_ you even _suggest_," he began, but no one was paying attention to him anymore.

Kamio was beside him now, and Tachibana drew Momoshiro between them. At closer proximity, he looked even worse. Overtaxed, for one thing, and far too somber. Tachibana remembered him as a boisterous sophomore, full of movement and energy. His sister had dragged him around with her pinky finger, and he'd followed her like a puppy. Now he looked more like a kicked dog.

"Is it your legs?" Tachibana asked. His observations had given him the impression that they were hurting, but it was also suggestive that, despite the blistering heat of the day, he was wearing track pants.

It was Kaidoh who answered. "He fell," he said, his tone equal parts anger and confusion. However, something flickered in his eyes, and he turned to Momoshiro. "You _told_ me you fell."

Sorrow was seeping into Tachibana's heart as that crack in Kaidoh's voice brought back memories. As did the way Momoshiro wouldn't look at any of them. He swallowed again, more painfully than before.

"I did fall, but –"

His voice choked off, and suddenly Tachibana noticed his cheek, yellow with an old bruise. He was also wearing his jersey, sleeves shoved down. How long had he been able to put off suspicion with that disarming nature of his?

Kaidoh was realizing this, too, the truth slowly dawning. He and his vice-captain were said to be close, even for Seigaku; rivals from the same year turned comrade-friend. His voice was unsteady as he said, "You idiot. Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

Momo's shoulders drooped even more, and Tachibana saw the way his eyes flinched sideways, a glance that encompassed the fence and his team and even Kaidoh himself. After that, the reason seemed obvious. Momoshiro was like Tachibana that way. It wouldn't have taken much.

"_Bastard!_" Momoshiro flinched, but the outburst wasn't directed at him. Kaidoh swung around, and only Kamio's fist around his collar stopped him from attacking Adachi, right there on the tennis court. He bellowed, _"I'll kill you!"_

He sounded like he meant it. However, this sudden violence snapped Coach Adachi out of his paralysis, and a brazen light entered his eye. "Are you going to try pinning a man as respected as me in the world of tennis with that kind of accusation? Just because one player is so clumsy he has a few bruises? I get to chose his training menu and decide what punishment is deserved for failure." He looked at Momoshiro. "Just try to do something about it."

Momoshiro was clearly at his limit; he was shaking so hard that Tachibana could feel it. "Momoshiro," he said with as much conviction as he could muster. "You have my word that whatever leverage he's been using, he won't be able to harm anyone anymore."

Adachi growled, but Tachibana's patience was exhausted. Instead, a fierce, growing anger was bubbling up. He felt his team behind him, their fighting spirit pressing against his, spurring him on.

Steel in his voice, he said, "You are finished, and you will deserve every bit of your punishment for taking advantage of someone who trusted you."

An was already handing him his phone. Her face was pinched, and Tachibana gently took the cell from her enervated fingers. There was only one person he could trust to make sure this wasn't swept under a carpet, and their tenuous history notwithstanding, he didn't doubt that Atobe would do what he could.

The official was made aware of the situation, and the game was postponed. While Atobe contacted the lawyers who served his family, Tachibana and Kamio stood sentinel on either side of a very quiet Momoshiro. Adachi was removed, seemingly unaware of how serious his situation was. His glare certainly lost none of its potency until he was out of sight.

Afterwards, Tachibana returned to his former team, who had gathered around him like a bulwark. He sighed deeply. "Well, that was unpleasant."

Most of the faces around him looked deep in contemplation, and it didn't take a mind reader to know where their thoughts had gone. Kamio asked, "Do you regret getting involved?"

Tachibana looked over to where Momo stood with Kaidoh, who was still repeating, _you idiot, you idiot,_ under his breath. However, he also had his arm around his teammate's neck, and Momoshiro was leaning against his weight.

Tachibana's eyes slide closed. "Of course not."

Following his line of sight, Kamio's shoulders relaxed and he shoved his hands into his pockets. "He'll be alright. He has his team."

Feeling that he should take An home, Tachibana started to leave the court. He made it as far as the gate before a hesitant voice stopped him. "Tachibana-san?"

He turned. It was Momoshiro, standing with his chin down and his fists clinched at his sides. His uncertain posture muffled his words, but not so much that they couldn't be heard.

He asked, "How did you know?"

Tachibana was silent, and at first he was certain things would remain that way, the truth behind his knowledge sealed. Yet a glance at his team changed his mind. Their eyes were clear, giving permission. He felt prouder of them than ever.

To Momoshiro, he answered, "Experience."

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on the Fudomine arc starting with episode (14), during which we find out about their team's violent history. Other examples of "bad" coaches include Richard Baker from the Junior Selection arc and the coach from Higa Junior High, who is clearly a bastard. It might interest you to know this is actually the second version of this story. In the first, Atobe and Oshitari were the perspective characters; however, Tachibana made more sense, thus the massive edit.


	27. Humiliation

**Humiliation**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Ryoma  
Summary: Ryoma witnesses Momoshiro's predetermined defeat at the hands of Oni Jujiroh at the U-17 camp and plots revenge.

* * *

Ryoma didn't notice that his fist had gripped the guardrail until tiny flecks of paint bit into his palm. Momoshiro hit the ground again, driven there by the merciless force of Oni Jujiroh, the high school player called the Guardian of Hell. From where he stood, Ryoma could see his friend's hand spasm weakly as he tried to grasp the handle of his racket. He couldn't, but that didn't prevent him from climbing unsteadily to his feet, racket propped awkwardly against his chest, ignoring the pleas of his teammates for him to withdraw.

Ryoma could have told them to save their breath. Momoshiro would never forfeit. It was one of the things that the two of them had in common. They had no choice but to throw themselves after that missile driven from the other side of the court. They would always go after the ball.

Now Ryoma's heart clinched, seeing Momoshiro hurt yet still fighting. He was not alone either. Around the grounds, one could see the faces of the other junior high school players looking on. Not one eye was turned away from court five and the brutal parody of a match being played out there.

Seeing them, something clicked inside Ryoma, and he realized that this had been staged. There was a reason why the coaches had selected Momoshiro as the only middle schooler to play today. It was a demonstration. It's aim: to break their spirit by breaking one of their own, one whom every player here in some way liked or respected. Momoshiro was to lose this fight by design, calculated even down to his injury, and all of them – Hyotei, Rikkaidai, Shitenhoji, Seigaku – were supposed to watch.

The coaches had planned this humiliation.

Then two of the older students started mocking Momoshiro – '_Talk about sad. He's years away from being able to stand against us high schoolers'_ – and Ryoma indulged a rare emotional display. Turning, he faced those idiots who knew nothing about how worthy Momoshiro was and demanded to know where he could find the strongest high school player.

'_The coaches have already made a mistake, Momo-senpai. They underestimated you. I may not be able to erase this defeat,'_ Ryoma thought, exchanging his tight-knuckled grip on the rail for one on his racket. _'But I will get revenge, for all of us.'_

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on _New Prince of Tennis_ episode (2), in which Momoshiro plays against high school player Oni Jujiroh and is injured. The obvious set-up of the whole thing was so cold-blooded. Ryoma's response, in contrast, was very human, even if his way of showing concern does end up being a tennis duel. Oh, Ryoma.


	28. Insecurity

**Insecurity**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Coach Nyudo  
Summary: On their first night on the mountaintop, an injured Momoshiro is confronted by the Drunken Coach.

* * *

The Spartan camp spread out under the clouded sky. From where he was standing against a mountain pine, Momoshiro could see the dark windows of the cabin where the older players slept, while behind him the deep breathing of his fellow junior high students mixed with the wild, nocturnal sounds of the mountain: crickets, twigs underfoot, rustling branches. The cliff and the so-called "tennis court" were also before him, bordered by a cobalt horizon of hazy stars.

His body was filled with aches and small pains – scratches from the rocks that had blocked their ascent, bruises and bloody knees, and a deep muscle ache that was too all-pervading to have a specific source. Yet all those could be ignored. Momoshiro turned his wrists, making slow circles. Every time he squeezed his fingers, a sharp pain traveled all the way to the elbow. He gritted his teeth and squeezed harder.

"You should be asleep with the other losers, boy."

The harsh voice snapped the somnolent quiet in two, and Momoshiro turned. The shroud of shadow parted as the heavy figure stepped closer, revealing a swarthy older man who was even now carrying that _hyotan_ flask that stunk of fermentation.

The man wiped his mouth ineloquently, but his eyes were razor sharp. "Tomorrow is going to be a long day. Don't expect me to go easy on you because you didn't get your beauty sleep."

Momoshiro had learned a lot already, and he refused to be goaded. Instead, he decided to do a little experimenting. Inserting just a hair of sarcasm into his voice, he said, "I was meditating."

An abbreviated sound, too short and cynical to be a laugh, was his reward. However, Coach Nyudo's repartee whipped out sharp as a knife. "Are you sure you weren't just sulking?"

Sulking. Momo's eyebrows shoved downward before he could help himself. He glanced at his hands, which were still bound for support. Not sulking, but he wasn't exactly dancing in the moonlight, either.

"Let me see those," Nyudo said.

He gestured imperiously to Momoshiro's bandaged hands. Aside from plain obstinacy, Momoshiro couldn't think of any reason to defy him, so he obeyed. The old man rotated his wrists, his heavy fingers surprisingly dexterous as he felt the bones and moved the fingers. When he let go, he was frowning. "You know they planned that match specifically."

Even a few months ago, Momo might have acted like he didn't understand, but he was too tired for subterfuge. He opted to say nothing, letting Coach Nyudo draw whatever conclusions he liked. The man did, and he barked out a sharp, staccato sound that might have been approval. "At least you're not stupid. You've got that kind of face. It makes you look like a dumbass."

The insult was too much like something Kaidoh might say to him, and Momo jerked his head to the side to keep from blurting something he'd regret. Instead, he said, "I know why they chose me."

"Oh, do you?" Nyudo said, but although his voice held a note of mockery, he wasn't smiling. "I know why they chose you, too. The fact that you're even standing here is testament to that."

Momoshiro knew he was referring to their climb up the mountain, an ascent he couldn't have made without help. In his mind, he relived the numb feeling in his fingers as he tried to grasp the rock face, the hot pain that had lanced up his arms with every attempt, and the raw feeling of his scraped skin, which stung almost as badly as his realization that no amount of willpower was going to get him up that cliff. At least, not his willpower. Kaidoh had saved him. They'd come a long, long way to be able to depend on one another like that, and one thing was for sure. Momo wasn't about to let some debauched old man tell him to be ashamed about it.

"You may not have noticed, but we're a team," Momoshiro said. And not just those of them who had once been teammates. These trials were already forging bonds, and unlikely people were well on their way to becoming a unit that could be incredible.

The coach made a dismissive noise. "A team is only as strong as its greatest handicap, and you are that, boy. Or didn't you notice that your bosom buddy lost the challenge match today because he was _still_ looking out for you."

Momoshiro still wasn't sure what to make of Kaidoh intercepting that ball careening toward him. In doubles, it was admirable to back up an injured partner. Yet Momo didn't like not knowing if he could have kept up with that match, even without the clumsy errors. All the strength of his usual style was completely sealed.

Almost to convince himself, he insisted, "I'm not going to hold them back."

"What use are you if you can barely grip a racket?" Nyudo asked. "You're a liability."

Momoshiro felt the weight of those words. Nonetheless, he fortified his resolve, clenching his fists in spite of the cruel spike of pain. Refusing to be wounded by this stranger. "One thing is pretty clear from where I'm standing, old man," Momoshiro said.

Coach Nyudo didn't back down. "And what is that?"

"You don't know who you're speaking to. I'm Momoshiro Takeshi, and I'm a hell of a lot more than a liability. I'll show you."

Dead space, with only the breeze and those damned crickets. Then Nyudo smiled. "I like you," he said. "As usual, those other coaches miss the human element."

Momoshiro reflected on that. He hadn't been at the training center long enough to decide for himself, but if there was anything that opponents like Rikkaidai and Josei Shounen and, hell, _Inui-senpai_ had proven to him, it was that technology, sophisticated training menus, and data could only reach so far. It put the rustic mountaintop camp in another light entirely, and the barest hint of admiration began to worm its way through Momoshiro. Maybe he was starting to like Coach Nyudo just a little bit, too.

"Of course, all the guts in the world aren't going to help you if you face players like Oni Jujiroh again," Nyudo said, thick arms crossed over his chest.

Momo let an expression slip onto his face that was sharper and more wicked than he usually allowed. "If those coaches didn't want me to beat him, they shouldn't have let me see that move. Twice."

"Black Jackknife?" Nyudo asked. "It's way above your class."

Why did everyone always underestimate him? Gee, surround yourself with a little talent and you all but disappeared. "I'm no genius, and I haven't got Echizen's gift for reading the ball. But people?" In his mind's eye, Momoshiro could see every minute muscle movement, every turn of the wrist. The flash of contempt in that flat, hateful eye. He said, "I notice people."

The coach chuckled. "Not stupid at all, in spite of appearances. But remember, boy. If you're going to stand up to Oni next time, it's not this you're going to need." Nyudo prodded Momoshiro's bicep. Then he laid one heavy finger on Momo's forehead. "You're going to need more of this."

"You think you've got something to teach me, old man?" Momoshiro asked.

"I'm going to beat you to hell," Coach Nyudo said, his voice suddenly lower by an octave. His whole body language was deadly serious. "I'm going to teach you brats things you never thought you needed to play tennis. I'll break you down to grit and gristle. Wreak your delusions. Then you can tell me."

"Bring it on. I'm no wilting flower," Momo challenged. And neither were any of the others. Any one of them had more determination and spirit than that whole pack of worthless high school players.

The coach nodded solemnly. Then he reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled something out, offering it to Momo. It was a tennis ball. "Squeeze it, gently, in reps of ten. Pronate and supinate. But don't overdue it."

Momoshiro watched the man turn and wander away, his gait lurching somewhat as he reached the clearing before the cabin. He turned the tennis ball over and over in his hand. Finally, he let himself fall heavily against the mountain pine and huffed a laugh. He looked up into the weak starlight over the camp he'd been promised would destroy them as soon as the sun rose.

"Here's hoping," he whispered. Squeezing. Waiting for strength to return, even greater than before. He would show the U-17 coaches what he was worth. They all would.

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on _New Prince of Tennis _episodes (2), (6), and (7), which demonstrate of a lot of character growth in these young men. Momoshiro's determination when sacrificed to an impossible opponent, Kaidoh's resolve not to leave his injured rival behind, the heartache and rebound of the middle school players forced to leave the U-17 camp, Sanada. Man, oh man.


	29. Esteem

**Esteem**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Billy Cassidy, Kevin, Ryoma  
Summary: Ryoma and Kevin introduce their best friends to one another after the Goodwill Games. It was either a huge mistake or the best thing ever.

* * *

"Somehow I can't stop watching."

Leaning back in the metal folding chair until it squeaked, Kevin grinned. "I know; it's like those old stories about a person getting split in half and finally coming together again."

"Like soul mates?" Ryoma adjusted the bill of his cap. "No way, this is much weirder."

Across the media room, their best friends were in the middle of a conversation. The fact that Momoshiro spoke nothing but the slangiest, most informal Japanese and that Billy's accent was broad even by American standards seemed to make no difference. There were a lot of wild gestures, loud declarations, and laughter. Momoshiro was apparently of the opinion that repetition and volume was the key, and Billy seemed to be enjoying it.

"We probably shouldn't have introduced them," Kevin said. "But I didn't realize."

"That we were friends with the same person, only one of them wears a cowboy hat and the other is an idiot?"

Neither could help but smile at the description. Two power players from across an ocean. Of course, they got along famously from the moment Momoshiro thumped his chest and introduced himself: "My name is Momoshiro."

Something sparked in Billy's eyes, instant kinship. He grabbed Momoshiro's hand and rattled it. "Billy Cassidy. _Yoroshiku_!"

After that, it had been like trying to stop a mudslide; the force of gravity had already taken over. They two seemed undeterred by the language barrier, either openly disregarding the other's incomprehension or bastardizing whatever word they were using until it was mangled into comprehensibility. It helped that most tennis terminology was roughly similar. For example, Momoshiro had no trouble at all declaring, "Shotgun volley, wow!", nor did either have any trouble discerning that they were both offensive players with a flare for the dramatic.

"You play tennis? I play good," Momoshiro had said, and demonstrated his favorite move.

"Jackknife?" Billy said with delight, fumbling for one of the rackets in his bag. "Show me!"

Before Kevin or Ryoma knew what happened, the two were carrying on as though they'd known each another forever. Of course, when Momo spoke Billy's name, it came out more like _Kashedee_, and Billy seemed confused about honorifics, because he kept calling Momoshiro _Momo-chan_. Although, to be fair, he wouldn't be he first to use that nickname.

Ryoma sighed but honestly couldn't stop the grin that slipped out from underneath it. Momoshiro's unrelenting affability had been what brought them together in the first place, after all; that, and his inability to take offense. It wasn't surprising that Kevin appreciated the same thing in a friend. He glanced over and saw that the other boy was thinking along the same lines.

"We met on a street-tennis court," Kevin said. "He was still learning how to play, but even as a beginner, he was good. His father could have afforded private lessons, but Billy was still playing on beat-up courts with guys who gave him a hard time because of where he came from. And he just laughed it off. They couldn't help liking him." He paused. "People…they don't react to me like that."

Ryoma could imagine. He had stepped onto hundreds of courts in his life, some of them surrounded by the shadow of brick buildings and the sounds of traffic, others carefully manicured and well tended. It didn't seem to matter which; he almost always ended up in a fight.

"I met Momo-senpai on my first day of school here. Everything was so rigid, everyone neatly ordered by their age. A couple of older club members were harassing some of the freshmen."

Kevin smirked. "And you had to get involved."

Ryoma grinned; maybe he was a little predictable. "Yeah. But so did Momo-senpai. Shut them down and ran them off. Then he challenged me to a duel."

A sharp, surprised glance. "That doesn't sound so different from everybody else."

On the surface, it didn't, but Ryoma remembered that day like it had just happened. It was clear in his memory, it's colors and sounds preserved – the grey-green of the court clay, the blue overheard, the cicadas just beginning to click in the trees. He met Momo on the eve of summer.

He told Kevin, "He wasn't an opponent. He was playing with me – like kids play, you know. He was giving me a chance to show off. And afterwards, when he _really_ knew how good I was, he still wanted to be friends. I don't think I even knew what that meant."

A dark, sad look came into Kevin's eye, like he understood this, too. "The first time I beat him, he acted like it was the best thing that ever happened to him. Then he got right back up and dusted himself off. He'll keep practicing with me for hours. We perfected the _Illusion_ together."

They grew quiet after that, just looking across the room. "We're fortunate we found them," Ryoma finally concluded.

While they watched, Billy jammed his wide-brimmed hat down on Momoshiro's head, thumping it a few times for good measure. Momo pushed it back up, so it didn't cover his eyes. Then he struck a pose, thumbs jammed in the waist of his pants. "Howdy," he said, "Wild West. Bang!" Having exhausted his relevant vocabulary, he scratched his head. "Um. Whiskey?"

Billy was laughing so hard he had to hold his stomach.

Ryoma ducked his head. "Fortunate. Even if they are morons."

For a moment, the noise of the room and its many conversations eclipsed everything. Kikumaru seemed to be attempting to introduce shy Oishi to doubles partners Tom and Terry by leaping in the air and babbling incomprehensibly. In another corner, European-born Arnold was speaking with Tezuka and Atobe in German, while Michael and Sangoku appeared to be comparing forms from their personal brand of marshal arts. Bobby and Kaidoh were both backing away from a cup with steam coming off  
of it that Inui was offering them, while Fuji laughed.

A slow smile crept onto Kevin's face. "Well," he commented, "at least all this gives some meaning to the 'goodwill' part of these games."

Momoshiro, meanwhile, was surrendering the cowboy hat to its original owner, "Thanks."

"You're welcome!" Billy answered, and then he shocked everyone within hearing range by asking, in perfectly fluent Japanese, "Hey, baby, can I have your phone number?" It sounded completely unironic, in spite of the connotation, and drew several stares. Momoshiro, too, seemed unsure. He was still smiling, but there was a definite question in the curve of his back and shoulders – a lack of certainty about what exactly Billy was asking.

He scratched the back of his head, "Ha?"

Kevin closed his eyes in exasperation, then shouted to Billy, "Ask for his email,not his phone number. Trust me, international calls aren't worth the hassle."

Billy held up his thumb. "Okay! Thanks Kevin. _Me-ruadoresu, onegai_!"

"We spent ages working on his Japanese," Kevin explained to Ryoma, "but the only thing he's really good at are pick-up lines."

Ryoma grinned. "At least he found a use for it."

Kevin rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. "He's hopeless."

* * *

Their pantomime having mostly tapered out, Billy and Momoshiro were slouched comfortably in their seats, shoulders shoved together as they observed their best friends. "I'm amazed they can even stand in the same room together after all this," Billy said in English. "It's been _Echizen Ryoma_ this, and _Echizen Ryoma_ that for months now."

Momoshiro, who heard his friend's name and knew exactly what that tone meant, rolled his eyes. "That guy," he commented in Japanese, shaking his head. "Every time someone challenges him, he gets like this. You have no idea how much work it is to keep him out of trouble."

Billy laughed at the grimace on Momoshiro's face, fairly sure he'd worn that look himself a time or two. "Well, at least they make things interesting."

Despite a slightly quizzical tilt of his eyebrow, the fellow feeling must have been clear, because Momo leaned back and nodded firmly.

Billy smirked, looking once again across the room to where Kevin and Ryoma stood. "Two crazy brats who think only about tennis. Tennis, tennis, tennis."

"Yes, tennis," Momoshiro said with emphasis, obviously following his train of thought. He, too, had his eyes fixed on their friends, but not without affection. It put a warm cast over his eyes with which Billy could easily relate. Kevin may have been caustic, impatient, arrogant, and driven, but there were also times when they faced each other across the net, and they just understood one another. Other times, Kevin would just look so young and damaged that Billy would forgive him anything. Casting a glance at Momoshiro, he had the feeling that things weren't much different on that end.

His sigh was full of affection all mixed up with resignation. "We really have our work cut out for us."

Momoshiro was smiling at Ryoma. "He's hopeless."

* * *

Author's Note:

Based on the Junior Selection arc beginning with (142). Honestly, I expected to dislike this filler, but in the end I felt it was a lot better developed than Jyousei Shounan. Billy struck me as Momoshiro wearing a cowboy hat, albeit a somewhat more mature version. Not actually sure about the fluency of the American team (since it was implied that some didn't understand Eiji or other Japanese speakers). However, Kevin was obviously able to speak decent Japanese, and Billy hits on some girls, so who knows? Ah, well. It's close enough for horseshoes.

* * *

Tomorrow will be the final story in this collection, I can hardly believe it. It's coming right at the end of the series for me, as I'm watching the final episode as I write this. It's been a really fun experience sharing _Prince of Tennis _with you all. Thank you so much for the support you've given.


	30. Curiosity

**Curiosity**

Character(s): Momoshiro, Sanada, Tezuka, Rikkaidai  
Summary: Momoshiro boards the wrong bus, gets attacked by Kirihara, is caught in a lie, and generally causes widespread disruption. Sanada is _very_ displeased.

* * *

Sanada stared at the figure wedged into the back seat of the bus. It was snoring faintly, a blue and white jacket pulled up over its ears to block out the sun, with a familiar bag emblazoned with the word _Seigaku_ popped up in the narrow space alongside. With the engine running, no one had realized that anyone was sleeping back here, certainly not a stowaway from a rival school. Marui leaned over the seat, grinning around a wad of gum fixed between his teeth. "Well," he said, "this is interesting."

Niou poked at a dangling tennis shoe. "I know this one. He was in doubles. The one who played by himself after Jackal broke his partner."

"I didn't _break_ him," Jackal protested, at the same time that Yanagi quietly cleared his throat and supplied the name of their unanticipated cargo. "His name is Momoshiro Takeshi, one of Seishun Gakuen's second year regulars. He is considered a _travaux en cours_ and a bit of a rascal, but his record is fairly strong. Aside from a forfeiture, yours was the first match he lost before the National tournament, Marui."

"Really?" Marui showed a different kind of interest now. Flopping onto his stomach, he dangled his fingers in front of Momoshiro's face, even going so far as to give his hair a yank. No response, except for a slight shift and a sleepy sigh.

Yagyuu adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "He certainly sleeps deeply."

Sanada crossed his arms, eyes closed against the tension headache building behind them. He loathed complications, and this was definitely a complication. "How did he end up on this bus?"

"Why don't we ask him?" Kirihara asked, giving the sleeper an ungentle kick with the heel of his shoe. He yanked the jersey free. "Rise and shine, Seigaku!"

Violence did what their fixed scrutiny had not; Momoshiro stirred. Rubbing his face with the back of his hand to wipe away a trail of drool, he sat upright, voice pitched in drowsy complaint: "Echizen, that hurt. Did you have to hit me?" Rikkaidai didn't say anything, allowing him time to peer blearily at their downturned faces. It took several moments before his eyes went comically wide, mouth falling open to blurt out an uncomprehending, "Ha?"

Marui laughed. "What, are we not who you expected?"

Momoshiro's eyes darted around, taking in the unfamiliar school building looming outside the bus, the strangers in their yellow jerseys, and finally, with total incomprehension, at Sanada's dark scowl. From _that_, he withdrew, which meant he wasn't entirely dimwitted. In a small voice, he asked, "Am-am I on your bus?"

"What made you think that, genius?" Kirihara sneered, blithely antagonistic as always.

Sanada shot him a quelling look and then took up the questioning himself. "This is our bus, and we've just arrived at _our _school. What are you doing here?"

Momoshiro scratched his neck, uncertain. "After the camp ended, I ditched Echizen so I wouldn't be late for once, and I actually arrived before everyone else. The whole backseat was free, and it looked like the perfect place for a nap. I figured everybody would wake me up when we got home." His face pinched into a look of pained realization. "I guess, maybe, I didn't read the sign on the window carefully enough."

Niou plopped down onto the seat beside him, throwing an arm around his neck. "Welp, you've managed to end up about an hour out of your way, kid."

"Forty-seven minutes," Yanagi corrected, but Sanada noticed that he was responding to this invasion with what appeared to be a modicum of honest interest. Was it because this person was from the same school as his old doubles partner?

Momoshiro, for his part, seemed dismayed by the news. "Tezuka-bucho is going to kill me."

"He has good reason," Sanada snapped, not bothering to moderate his harsh rebuke. Momoshiro's chin went down, cowed. "You've caused a great deal of inconvenience, both for us and for your team. If it were up to me, I would make you run back."

"For the whole trip?" Momoshiro blurted, horrified. "But that would take – Yanagi-san, how long would it take me?"

If he was surprised to be solicited for information so casually, Yanagi didn't show it. In fact, the edges of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. "I think I'm starting to understand what Sadaharu meant," he commented, which only made their guest look more confused.

"A better question," Kirihara mused, his eyes flashing, "is, what are we going to do with you now?"

"Put him off the bus," Sanada said, turning on his heel. He'd already had enough of this nonsense. "He's not our responsibility."

At least three voices made a simultaneous protest. Even Yanagi, who almost never contradicted Sanada, spoke. "Gen'ichiro, although he wasn't expected, Momoshiro is still a guest. Perhaps we should give him a tour of our facilities. After all, Akaya did have the opportunity to visit Seigaku's tennis club before the Regionals."

"Agreed!" Niou chimed in. He knuckled Momoshiro's scalp. "This is the most exciting thing that's happened in weeks. It would be a shame to kick him out."

Sanada examined his teammates. Marui and Niou were eager, and he could practically feel Yagyuu and Yanagi's curiosity radiating. Kirihara's showy pout was accompanied by a fixed look of anticipation. Even Jackal seemed interested. Clearly, they were united on this front. Sanada glared at Momoshiro, who, in spite of being captured in the crux of Niou's boney elbow, was gazing up at him as though seeking reprieve. He had eyes like Akaya. Big and pitiful and stupid. Disgusted, Sanada sighed. "Fine, take him to the gymnasium for afternoon practice. I'll call Seigaku and tell them where their missing member is. We'll let them decide what to do."

Cheers from Marui and Niou, who shoved Momoshiro to his feet and began herding him off the bus. Kirihara followed, kicking at the discarded _Seigaku_ jersey a few times before picking it up and tossing it carelessly over his shoulder. Soon, only Yanagi and Sanada were left on the bus. Sanada didn't bother hiding his consternation. "Why are you going along with this, Renji?"

"Don't you think it's a fascinating opportunity? After all, we didn't really have the chance to evaluate him as an individual during Nationals."

"So this is about data?"

"In part," Renji conceded. He offered his friend a measured look. "After all, this is one of the young men who may be next year's captain or vice-captain."

Sanada grunted. "If that's the best Seigaku has to offer, they won't be defending champions for long."

"Sadaharu says he has some surprising capabilities, things not easily measured by numbers on a page. Tezuka also seems to have high hopes for him."

Although he preferred to face his opponents without the elaborate forward planning that Yanagi preferred, Sanada did understand the value of knowing one's opponents. Tezuka's name also got his attention, as it usually did. If _he_ thought there was something worthwhile about a feckless child who couldn't even read well enough to board the right bus, they might at least take a closer look at him. "Fine," he agreed. "Show him around, put him through his paces. Whatever. Just make sure no one disgraces themselves."

Yanagi offered one of his rare smiles. "Understood, Gen'ichiro."

* * *

'_There are as many tennis styles as there are players.'_

As their group made its way through the grounds, then to the courts so carefully tended by Rikkaidai club members, the words cycled through Yanagi's mind. He watched his eclectic teammates indicate points of interest to Momoshiro, who took it all in with great appreciation, openly exclaiming over the neat rows of players in the midst of swing drills, the lush green surroundings, the size of the available court space.

'_Yet, in general, there are three ways to approach tennis. There are technical players who view the game as a mental exercise; ball, racket, physics, form.' _He was such a player, and so was Marui. '_Then there are those who approach the game as a method of self-actualization.' _Both Yukimura and Sanada fit this category. Also Kirihara, who in his own way faced himself every time he entered the court._ 'Finally, there are the psychological players, those for whom the game is about understanding people.' _On their team, Niou fit this type, as did Hyotei's exceptional Atobe.

Yanagi put his chin on his hand, observing their guest with interest. _' So, which are you, Momoshiro? Is your approach clinical, personal, or social?'_

They had finished with their tour of the outdoor courts and had settled on the bleachers around them. Momoshiro seemed comfortable, undaunted by the fact that he was surrounded by rivals. "It was pretty boneheaded to end up on the wrong bus," he said, "but at least I got to see all this. Inoue-san told us your school was impressive, but it's different seeing it in person."

"Inoue-san?" Jackal wondered. "Do you mean that reporter from the _Monthly Pro Tennis _magazine who came to observe our training methods?"

Of course, Kirihara felt the need to seize this potentially volatile thread. "I see how it is. Was he feeding you guys information about us? That's dirty, Seigaku."

Though the remark was clear provocation, Momoshiro waved off the accusation without taking offense. "It's not like that. He and his assistant, Shiba-san, have a little crush on Echizen, so they're around a lot. Actually, it's terrible. The last thing that guy needs is more members for his fan club; he already thinks he's better than just about anybody."

Although the words might have sounded critical coming from another, the way Momoshiro spoke was full of easy affection, as though the cockiness of Seigaku's famous rookie was nothing more than an amusing personality quirk. Yanagi's interest in interpersonal relationships was generally limited to how they played out as a variable in double's combinations, but even to him it seemed obvious that Momoshiro and Echizen were more than teammates. It was funny how one could forget that there was more going on within the world of one's enemies than just tennis. They, too, had friendships, families, hopes, and hardships.

Puncturing a huge bubble with a click of his tongue, Marui grumbled, "Echizen, Echizen. He sure has been getting a lot of attention. Does he really have a fan club?"

Momoshiro laughed. "Oh, yeah. There's this poor girl in his class who even took up tennis because of him. Which is a good thing, because Echizen barely notices a person exists unless they're holding a racket."

"Sanada-san would appreciate that attitude. He thinks dating is a waste of time." Marui sank into the space between the bleachers, arms crossed over his chest in annoyance. "He'd make me run a hundred laps if he ever got wind of any 'distractions.'"

Niou leaned in, making a cup with his hand as though imparting a secret. In a stage-whisper, he said, "If you ask me, our vice-captain might just be a little shy." Even Yanagi couldn't stop his eyes from crinkling, whereas the others in the group covered their mouths and cackled. In anything else in life, _shy_ would have been a ludicrous world to use for Sanada, but in this case it just might have been warranted.

"Echizen isn't shy around girls," Momoshiro said. "It's more like he's confused about their place in the universe. That guy's whole brain is taken up with tennis."

"How about you, Momoshiro-kun? Are you dating anybody?"

An unforeseen transformation took place, wherein the boisterous Momoshiro they had known so far turned suddenly bashful. Flustered, he muttered, "I guess I'm pretty caught up with tennis, too."

Marui poked him in the side. "Oh, really? Well, what about –"

"Why are we still talking about this?" Kirihara blurted in a fit of exasperation. He had listened more or less patiently while they walked the grounds, and aside from his barb about the reporter, he had been quiet during small talk. However, now he seemed to have reached his limit. "We're standing right next to an open tennis court. Enough talking. Why don't we play a match? I'd like to see what you're made of, Momoshiro."

Momoshiro returned Kirihara's sharp grin without reservation, but Niou's hand slammed down on his shoulder before he could accept. "I'm going first," he said, and when Kirihara began to gripe, he pulled down his eyelid with his fingernail. "Senior privilege. I get first dibs."

Yanagi was momentarily distracted by the speculative glint in Momoshiro's eye, a look with an unexpected edge which disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared. '_What kind of player are you?' _That was the relevant question, and Niou would be better suited to discovering the answer than Kirihara. "Niou is right," Yanagi agreed. "Shall we make it a one-set match?"

"Fine by me!" Momoshiro came to his feet with enthusiasm. Someone had the foresight to grab his bag out of the bus, so his racket came easily to hand. He pointed it at Niou. "Make sure it's interesting."

Niou smiled a wicked smile. "No problem, Momoshiro-kun."

* * *

"They've been rallying for fifteen minutes," Yagyuu reported quietly, his eyes on the watch he'd slipped out of his pocket.

Marui crossed his ankles, squinting through the sun. "I don't get it. Niou seemed like he had him after those first two games. Isn't he still able to see where Momoshiro is going to hit the ball?"

Yanagi had been studying the back and forth movement with growing interest. The first couple of games had, predictably, gone to Momoshiro as Niou scouted his prey. Yet after the first true assault had fired past Momoshiro's feet, he'd been confident that Niou's exceptional ability to pinpoint his opponent's habits would give him at least the game, if not the match. And Momoshiro's pace _had _been disrupted long enough for his opponent to squeeze ahead to 40-15. However, that advantage had not lasted. Although from here Niou's shots seemed just as deliberate as before, somehow Momoshiro was answering every one. As to how he was doing it...

He leaned forward. Sadaharu didn't make it a habit of giving out information about his team, even to Yanagi, but he had said one thing about Momoshiro which stood out in his mind. A troublesome guy, he'd called him. Without context, that label hadn't meant much, but Yanagi was starting to understand.

"He's anticipating Niou," he said, and was strongly amused by the incredulous looks of his fellow spectators.

Jackal asked, "Do you mean he can see through his opponent, too?"

The data wasn't complete yet, but he had enough for conjecture. "If I had to guess, I would say that he is reading Niou's intentions. How he accomplishes this is probably a combination of factors. Body language, facial queues, even intuition."

There was a moment of quiet, and then Yagyuu made the obvious connection. "That means they are outmaneuvering one another. They both know where their opponent will hit the ball, which is why this has gone on so long."

Yanagi nodded. "Niou often forces his opponents to face themselves, but it seems this time he may be in a similar position. The point will go to the first person who accomplishes the unexpected. Niou has more experience, and therefore the advantage. However –"

He stared intently down onto the court, at Momoshiro's face. On the surface, he was wearing the same cheerful expression he had been since they got off the bus, but now that Yanagi was looking, he saw the steel beneath the veneer. He sat back, looking forward to seeing this play out. It was always exciting when a subject defied probability.

* * *

"Whoo, it's hot," Momoshiro said later, wiping his forehead with the dark sweatband on his forearm. "We did a lot of running around in that second match."

Yanagi offered him a full water bottle, which had been brought for them by a Rikkaidai member practicing nearby. He took the opportunity to ask a few questions as they walked toward the indoor tennis courts. "That's often the case with Jackal, as you undoubtedly already knew. Your friend, Kaidoh Kaoru, is also known for his stamina, correct?"

Momoshiro had his teeth around the straw, but still managed to grimace. "Yeah. Talk about a guy who won't quit. Did you know he runs thirty kilometers a day?"

He had not known and now filed that information away. "That's very interesting. I suppose your training menu is specialized depending on your approach."

"Inui-senpai loves designing training menus," Momoshiro admitted ruefully, and Yanagi had to grin. As fond as he was of Sadaharu, even he had to admit that his friend could be obsessive. However, Seigaku certainly owed at least part of their success to his meticulous methodology.

He suggested, "You're quite lucky to have someone on your team who puts so much effort into meeting your needs as an individual and as a whole."

"That's easy for you to say," Momoshiro complained. "Did he ever share any of his juice with you?"

Even the mention of the noxious concoction caused a pall to drop. Birds stopped singing, the sky seemed to darken, and behind them, Niou made a gagging sound. Yanagi cleared his throat. "We-we might have sampled a version of it once."

Marui waved his arms around. "I thought I was going to die!"

"Sabotage," Yagyuu said, pushing his glasses up. Beneath them, his skin had gone pale. "Undoubtedly."

"At least you guys don't have to drink it every day," Momoshiro muttered, rubbing his arms as though he had goose bumps. "Every time we run somewhere, or work on an exercise, or do a drill. Even on recreation days. I can't even look at an unmarked bottle during a match, I'm so traumatized. Did yours bubble? There was once this red stuff that bubbled."

That reminded him. "That's right. You had one forfeiture this year. That was because of one of Sadaharu's recipes?"

Momoshiro made a face. "Don't remind me. We were winning, too."

"Very interesting," Yanagi said. He had heard things, of course, but the details tended to get lost. "Aside from a few tapes, we weren't able to see many of your team's matches before we met you during the Regional championships. Perhaps, since you're here, you could tell us more about Seigaku."

Momoshiro scratched his neck. "What kind of things would you like to know?"

It was fishing, just a little, and Yanagi felt a brief pang of conscious. He glanced at his teammates, who all looked keen, and decided that whatever Momoshiro felt comfortable sharing would be fair game. Thus, he remarked, "Anything is fine."

"Well." Momoshiro glanced at the clouds passing lazily overhead. "We do have this training method where we play in the dark."

Marui squeaked, "You mean you practice at night?"

"Sure, sure. Night practice is standard at Seigaku," Momoshiro said. "Helps us use all our senses if we don't use the lights. How else did you think Echizen and Fuji could play with their eyes closed? Then, three times a day, we break for stamina training. Tire drags, squats, and push ups – two hundred each."

Even for a team aiming for the national championships, that kind of menu seemed extreme. "Two hundred pushups?"

"Of course. I can do three hundred, easy. Then we have individual workouts. That's weights for me and Taka-san. Did you know he can hit a ball hard enough to punch it through a fence? He's caused so much property damage that Ryuzaki-sensei has to budget for it. For him, and for Fuji."

At first, no one spoke. Clearly they were all thinking of Seigaku's slender prodigy and wondering how he could be compared to a powerhouse like Kawamura. Somewhat apprehensive, Jackal asked, "Why? What does Fuji do that causes property damage?"

Momoshiro had thrown his arms over his head, lacing his fingers together behind his ears. "You've heard of his triple counters, right? Well, there used to be only three, but he's up to at least twelve now. The newest one nearly took my head off. Not that everybody doesn't have their weaknesses. For example, you know Tezuka-bucho's _zero shiki _drop shot? Well, you can always tell it's coming because he lowers his racket 91.4 centimeters before he hits it."

There was a long silence, which was finally broken by Yanagi, who said, "If he lowered it 91 centimeters, the racket would be on the ground."

"Really?" Momoshiro tapped his chin, as though he were surprised. "Math is really difficult."

It took Yanagi a moment to process the fact that they'd been duped, and then he couldn't decide if he was amused or embarrassed. Niou was the one who finally spoke up. "Okay, so maybe we deserved that," he admitted.

Momoshiro smiled.

* * *

Sanada paced down the path leading to the gymnasium, head bowed over in thought. He had just finished calling Seishun Gakuen and speaking to their coach, Ryuzaki-san. The old woman had a reputation for being unconventional, but he still hadn't known how to react when she grunted, "Is that where he is? I was beginning to wonder."

Her casual tone had made him incapable of saying anything more than, "Y-yes."

Sounding cranky, she muttered, "Echizen was sure he'd gone back home for some reason. Well, I suppose we'll have to come get him. If you put him on a bus, he'd probably end up in Okinawa. The boy can't stay awake on a moving vehicle to save his life. Would you be willing for him to stay with your team until later this afternoon? Tezuka has volunteered to come pick him up, but it may be a few hours, and the last thing we need is him wandering around in traffic."

Tezuka himself coming to Rikkaidai was almost an acceptable recompense for this otherwise ridiculous situation. Sanada asked, "May I speak with him?"

There was a muffled sound as the receiver changed hands, and then Sanada heard the gruff voice of Seigaku's captain, Tezuka Kunimitsu. "I understand you have our Momoshiro."

"It seems he foolishly ended up on the wrong bus," Sanada said. "It doesn't speak very highly of your juniors, Tezuka."

If he was expecting to get a reaction, he was disappointed; Tezuka's response was as measured as always. "Is that so. Momoshiro is a bit of a puzzle box. Are you sure you haven't misjudged him?"

Sanada thought of the sleepy, drool encrusted teenager he'd kicked off of his bus. He scoffed. "When are you coming for him?"

"I'll be there by five o'clock."

Then the line had gone dead, leaving Sanada feeling unsettled. He had misjudged Echizen, believing him to be an arrogant brat with some talent, but not with the kind of will and tenacity that would make him great. Their meeting at Regionals had stunned him. Rarely had he underestimated an opponent so badly. Yet even Seigaku had to have a few ordinary members, and this Momoshiro seemed as ordinary as they came. Before speaking to Tezuka, Sanada would have put him up against any second-stringer they had and confidently expected victory. However, his conversation on the phone had undermined his confidence. He decided that the best way to be certain was to evaluate this Momoshiro Takeshi for himself.

Sanada finally reached the gym, only to find most of his team lounging outside. They looked up when he approached, faces breaking out in spontaneous smiles. Clearly, they'd found the afternoon worthwhile. He glanced around but didn't see Momoshiro, so he seized the opportunity for a report.

"Well?"

Niou piped up. "Momoshiro-kun played a match with me. He was favoring an old injury, but realized that he was telegraphing after only a few games. Then I tried mimicking his captain, but that only made him excited. He also took on Jackal."

Sanada was surprised to hear that Momoshiro had been able to keep with either Niou or Jackal. "Oh?"

"It was informative," Yanagi said, placing a slender finger against his forehead in what Sanada had come to recognize as an analytical pose. "Momoshiro is very technical with several high level moves, fearless when it comes to pushing to take the point. Some good passing shots, including a strong backhand, and a midair smash with a great deal of power. As a bonus, he's quite intuitive about the movement of his opponent."

"Very intuitive," Niou went so far as to compliment. He laughed in a self-depreciating way. "He certainly kept me on my toes. Set up the point more than once without me even knowing it."

"Although, of course, you did defeat him," Yagyuu said.

"Sure," Niou said. "But give him another year, and I don't know."

"No glaring weaknesses," Yanagi continued. "Although I would say that his accuracy is only average. He would probably benefit from some guidance in that area."

Sanada ignored the pointed comment. Momoshiro wasn't on his team, and he was not responsible for his development. "What was the result of the second match?"

"He beat me, six games to three." Jackal passed one hand over his scalp. "He's improved a lot since we played him at Regionals."

"It was the predictable result," Yanagi said. "He has a great deal of experience with counterpunchers. His team's vice-captain, the prodigy Fuji Shuusuke, and his rival all use that play style."

"We may have been lucky we met them in doubles," Marui admitted, smacking his gum. Although his partner had lost, he didn't seem bothered. In fact, there was a glint in his eye that Sanada usually associated with pleasant surprises. "Not too shabby, especially for a second year."

"After that, he asked to see the laser beam." Niou gestured toward their resident stoic, who glanced away. "Fairly gushed over it. I think I saw Yagyuu blush."

Sanada wasn't used to seeing Yagyuu look anything but neutral, yet there was something like amusement hovering around him intangibly, matching the grin of his partner. "How did that go?"

As one, his teammates averted their eyes, something that made Sanada instantly uneasy. "Well, actually," Jackal said. "It ended in an injury, so they stopped."

"An injury," Sanada repeated.

"Just a little one," Marui reassured, gesturing toward his scalp. "Maybe he bled a bit. But it wasn't anybody's fault. Besides, we did put a plaster over it."

"Where is he now?"

"He was interested in Akaya's kick serve. They went to try it out."

Sanada wasn't usually so melodramatic that a phrase like _heart-stopping_ had personal meaning to him. However, the lurching sensation in his chest brought him to a complete standstill. "What?"

Marui didn't seem to understand why his vice-captain had gone rigid. "He asked Akaya to serve for him so he could practice returning."

"You let him go off with Akaya, alone?"

As one, Rikkaidai's team members looked at one another, uncertain. "But, Akaya can handle it," Marui said. "He's been doing much better since Yukimura got out of the hospital."

Without a word, Sanada turned.

* * *

The ball made a satisfying squeak as Kirihara gripped it between his knuckles. He felt the rubber give, and anticipation bubbled to the surface in the shape of a grin that was mostly teeth. He could feel his heart beating, the sweat in the bend of his knees. It was hard to believe that less than an hour ago he was practically paralyzed in the face of this confrontation.

It had all started with Momoshiro's request to see his kick serve. "Fuji-senpai says that it's a lot different than Echizen's. Will you show me?"

The implication that Fuji Shuusuke had been downplaying his skills made Kirihara growl, and his first instinct had been to show this Seigaku punk exactly how strong his serve was. However, just the memory of that match with Fuji, which had revealed so many of his inner demons, made Kirihara swallow. He hesitated.

"Come on," Momoshiro coaxed. "We don't even have to play a real match. Please?"

Kirihara made a disgusted sound at the ridiculous addition of the word _please_, but since his senpai made no objections, he agreed. They went to one of the indoor courts, and then Kirihara found himself staring across the net at yet another Seigaku player, filled with uneasy tension. His first serve leapt upward only half-heartedly, and Momoshiro batted it aside without even bothering to engage.

Hands on his hips, he called, "That's hardly a kick serve."

The taunt gave birth to the first trickle of blistering anger, but Kirihara pushed it down with fierce restraint. He drummed the ball on the gym's hard surface, fighting against the urge to do violence. '_That's not who I am anymore_,' he told himself, but the second serve he fired off was just as lackluster as before, and Momoshiro lowered his racket.

"Why are you holding back?"

Kirihara closed his eyes. Behind them he could see the ugly mask that still whispered to him, provoking his ugliest impulses. His hand gripped tight around his racket. "Aren't you worried I'll hurt you?"

Momoshiro's head tilted. "Are you kidding? Echizen sends balls flying at my face every day. You can even use that knuckle serve if you want." He rubbed his hands together like a kid who was expecting a treat. "It'll be my own fault if I can't return it properly, right?"

Whereas a conciliatory remark might have felt condescending, Kirihara found he could somehow accept this weird, offhand absolution. After all, wasn't it true that Momoshiro was responsible for his own safety? Hadn't he asked to see the knuckle serve?

At first Kirihara winced every time the ball grazed his opponent. Yet Momoshiro seemed undaunted, even charging recklessly into its trajectory to get a better angle. Eventually Kirihara relaxed. It felt wonderful not to be careful, to attack without the sick feeling that he was doing something wrong. Reveling in it, he put his whole body behind his serve. It sent the ball spiraling away, its unpredictable spin causing it blur before it struck the ground and kicked up.

"Ha," Momo grunted, the strings of his racket making a solid connection. His other attempts had mostly gone out, hissing and dancing along the wall, but this time the return was perfect. Kirihara saw it coming and a wild passion seized hold of him. He couldn't let the ball go sailing harmlessly by. Instead, his racket came up almost on its own, and he launched the shot back over the net.

Momoshiro wasn't expecting it. The ball struck him in the thigh and sent him to the gym floor. His cry was like a blade piercing straight through Kirihara, who was unable to believe what he had done. He leapt the net, rushing to Momoshiro's side.

"Are you alright?"

Momoshiro sat up with a groan and stretched out his leg. "Sure, sure. You don't know what it's like to be hit until you've misjudged a _hadokyu_. This is nothing." He hopped back onto his feet, then glanced at Kirihara with a perplexed expression. "You know, you haven't exactly been acting like your usual self."

Kirihara, who was still pale from seeing Momoshiro fall, reacted instinctively. Pain flared up at the words _unusual self_, words he associated with judgment, with enemies, even with blood. He snapped, "You don't know a thing about me."

"Che, don't get so defensive." Momoshiro propped his racket over his shoulder. "I just mean you seem reserved or something. I think I liked you better when you were picking fights. At least you had a little personality then."

Kirihara wanted to explain, but how could anyone understand how hard he had to bear down on his rage? Yet he'd been doing it. He'd been doing it until he thought he could barely stand it. In a strained voice, he muttered, "You don't get it."

"Don't get what?"

"Sometimes, I can barely control it," he admitted. "I feel like I'm going to just – to just –"

"Explode? You remind me of Mamushi."

"Huh?" Kirihara lifted his head at the seeming non-sequitur.

"I mean Kaidoh," Momoshiro explained. "He's got a temper almost as bad as yours. Sometimes he gets so strung out he can barely see straight. You must have seen it when you played him."

Kirihara returned to the Nationals. He had lost it completely, injured someone, even though he had vowed he would never use that play style again. Yet he had failed and put another person in the hospital. Kaidoh may also have lost himself, but he hadn't gone to the extremes Kirihara had. "He held back."

Momoshiro waved off the dismissal. "That time he did, but I've seen him at his worst, and if he doesn't let off some steam, it can get ugly. It's too bad that your teammates are all older than you. That makes it hard."

Completely lost now, Kirihara said, "My teammates look out for me." It was true. Sanada and Yanagi-san and all the others believed in him. They'd gone to great lengths to help him become a different kind of tennis player. Even after the Nationals, they hadn't lost faith in him. So how could Momoshiro act like they weren't doing enough?

He wasn't left in suspense. Momoshiro smacked his fist into his palm. "Sometimes you just need to slug it out with somebody, get it out of your system. The trick is, you have to be able to trust that they're not going to seriously hurt you. It's just for kicks, you know?"

Kirihara had absolutely no idea what Momoshiro was talking about. "Trust?"

The other teen cocked an eyebrow in exasperation. "Gee, do I have to spell it out for you?"

Then he punched Kirihara in the face.

Kirihara looked up from the ground in shock. He put a hand to his stinging mouth, and blood came away on his fingers. "You hit me."

"Sure did," Momoshiro said with a cocky smile. "You going to do anything about it, seaweed head?"

There was no anxiety or hatred in Momoshiro's eyes. Unlike their earliest confrontation in the hospital, his fists were not trembling in tight, ready fists. Rather, he seemed to be making an offer. A challenge. In sudden comprehension, Kirihara's face tore wide open, a fierce grin forming. The heat started rattling around inside him again, but this time he let it come. Momoshiro wanted a fight? Well, okay.

* * *

Sanada didn't know what he expected beyond the gym doors. He knew what he _hoped_ to find, which was two boys engaged in a training exercise or maybe a practice match. Almost anything but an injured Seigaku player on the floor, clutching his leg or arm and whimpering in pain. _'Let me find them insulting each another from opposite sides__ of the net, like civilized people,' _he prayed. '_For once, let Akaya have kept his head.'_

He pushed open the doors, and for one moment his eyes were blinded by the sudden change in lighting. Then they cleared, and he spotted Momoshiro and Kirihara. Not on either side of the court. Not with rackets in hand. On the floor. Locked in a death grip, snarling as they grappled with one another. Sanada felt like water had been thrown over his head.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!"

At his roar, the fighting stopped instantly and two pair of panicked eyes – one dark green, the other violet – stared up at him from the ground. Kirihara still had Momoshiro in a headlock, his elbow fiercely hooked around their guest's windpipe. He let loose, allowing Momoshiro a gusty breath. However, he otherwise remained paralyzed as Sanada loomed over them, waiting for an answer to his question.

Momoshiro, who was pinned on his stomach beneath Kirihara's weight, made an attempt to explain. "Um, wrestling?"

"Get off him!" Sanada barked and waited for them to scrabble to their feet. They stood breathing heavily, arms at their sides as they waited for punishment, and Sanada was about to let them have it when the incongruous nature of the situation hit him.

Although he had caught the them fighting, they were not standing before him with the rigid, barely contained aggression of two interrupted combatants. If anything, Kirihara looked calmer than Sanada had seen him in a long time. Sanada examined him, seeing the relaxed slope of his shoulders, the lax, hanging fingers, the soft muscles in his face. And although it was masked by the fact that he was panting and his chin was pointed at his chest in a posture of submission, nothing could completely hide the fact that he was _smiling_, mostly with his eyes, which were lit up with genuine pleasure rather than manic energy. Sanada jerked his head to the side and saw that Momoshiro's posture was almost an exact mirror of Kirihara's.

'_Um, wrestling?'_

Playing. Had they been _playing_?

Regaining his composure, Sanada addressed his kohai, "Akaya, you will run two hundred laps, starting now." Then, ignoring Kirihara's exaggerated look of despondency, he spoke to Momoshiro. "You, pick up your racket and come with me."

* * *

"Sanada-san," Momoshiro spoke uneasily as they entered a darkened room. "You shouldn't be mad at Kirihara. I picked that fight, you know."

Without deigning to respond, Sanada engaged the overhead lights, which flickered on to reveal the massive pitching machines that were so much a part of Rikkaidai's impressive speed and precision.

Momoshiro gapped at them. "You have your own pitching machines, here at school?"

Obvious. "I'm told that your technique is acceptable," he rumbled. "But your accuracy isn't consistent. You should realize that no matter how advanced or powerful your moves are, they're useless if you can't make legal shots."

"I'm consistent," Momoshiro muttered.

Sanada engaged the machine, making sure the settings met his personal preference. Then he went to the baseline. There was silence except for the whirling of the ball coming into position, and then the machines fired in sequence, _one, two, three_, almost faster than an untrained eye could see. Sanada sent them all into the far corner of the opposite court, so nearly on top of one another that they made a single mark on the ground. He straightened, exhaled, and turned. "Well?"

Mouth hanging open, Momoshiro stammered, "You do that all the time?"

"Even Kirihara can manage a proficient array. If you can't, you should be embarrassed."

Sanada saw when the challenge was taken up, because it took the child out of Momoshiro's eyes. Stepping forward, he bent his knees into a starting position. "Fire away."

Sanada deliberately left the speed and intervals as they were rather than lowering them, wanting to make his point clear. He watched as the balls fired; two of them struck Momoshiro and another barely made contact with his racket. It landed outside the court and rolled toward the wall. Sanada took in the stunned expression on Momoshiro's face, then adjusted the speed to a more manageable setting. "Again."

At the very least, Momoshiro was fairly quick on the uptake. His swing adjusted within a few rounds, and although he never managed to overlap his returns, the marks on the floor moved steadily closer together. If he were to keep it up, no doubt eventually he would be at an acceptable level. He was panting when Sanada finally turned off the machine, but his expression was all satisfaction. He wiped the sweat from his face. "That was great."

"I know first years who can place their shots more accurately," Sanada lied.

Looking as though he'd been kicked, Momoshiro grumbled, "Don't I get any credit for improvement?"

"No." Sanada said. "Results are all that matters."

Momoshiro gave him a dissenting look, but didn't bother arguing. Instead, he looked wistfully at the three dark spaces from which the balls were launched. "I wish we had those back at Seigaku."

"They're just a tool," said Sanada. He lifted his racket, squeezed the grip gently against his palm, then walked onto the court, facing Momoshiro across the net. "Your true test will always be your opponent."

Others faced with one of Japan's National level tennis players might have balked, but Momoshiro looked as though someone had offered him dessert. Hastily, he took his position, pulling a ball from his pocket. "You ready?"

"Show me your best," Sanada said simply.

Momoshiro took his first shot with a cry of joy.

* * *

After one match, Momoshiro was done. Sprawled on the floor, he lay struggling to breath, one arm thrown over his face. "Just as bad as playing Tezuka-bucho," he murmured, chuckling. When he finally sat up, he looked dazed but happy. "Thank you, Sanada-san."

"I don't know why you're thanking me," Sanada said, coming to stand over him. "You lost. Badly."

"Well, yeah," Momoshiro answered, "but it's not everyday I get to play somebody like you. And I took a game, didn't I? I'm going to brag about it to everybody."

Sanada closed his eyes. To him, feeling any kind of satisfaction in defeat was almost obscene. Momoshiro had been defeated, and he didn't even have the dignity to be upset about it. Even Echizen's reaction had been more comprehensible. Momoshiro's smile faded somewhat as he took in Sanada's grave dignity, his clear dissatisfaction.

His eyebrows lowered. "I don't get you guys. You're champions. Half the members of your team are considered the best players in the country, and you still walk around like the world is going to end if you drop one game."

Without knowing why he bothered explaining, Sanada said, "When Yukimura and I first began tennis, we committed ourselves to victory. Anything less is total failure."

Momoshiro frowned. "I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I disagree."

"Disagree?"

"Well, if you always have to win, doesn't that mean that you and Yukimura-san can't play together just for fun? I mean, I like playing seriously as much as the next guy, but if me and Echizen played like that all the time –" He stopped, shaking his head. "Well, that's just not all there is to tennis, is there?"

A long moment passed in which Sanada's mind followed paths it had not traveled in a long time, to the early days when he and Yukimura had first picked up a racket. They had discovered their talent very quickly, and their natural fierceness and willpower had done the rest. Yet, with concentration, he could remember a time before tennis had been a competition. Summer heat and the high-pitched laughter of children. How long had it been since he and Yukimura faced each other, not to challenge one another's skills, but simply for the pleasure of enjoying tennis with a friend?

When his eyes snapped open, Momoshiro was looking cheeky. "I have a point, don't I?"

"Be thankful you're too far away for me to slap you," Sanada said.

* * *

Sanada was waiting outside the school gate when Tezuka arrived. He examined the other captain for signs of impatience at having to travel so far, but wasn't surprised to find him as unreadable as ever. He did pause when he saw Sanada. "It seems we meet again, much sooner than expected," he greeted.

"Yes," Sanada answered. "Though we have your club member to thank for that."

Tezuka acknowledged this by ducking his chin. "I hope he hasn't been disruptive."

"Disruptive." If there was a single word that described Momoshiro, then that was it. Judging from the tiniest hint of mirth lurking in Tezuka's eyes, he knew it, too, the bastard. "He has certainly managed to ingratiate himself with my team."

As they began walking, Tezuka said, "He's invasive that way. Difficult to dislike."

Sanada might have argued the point, but they had reached the gym. When they entered, they found the other Rikkaidai members gathered around the benches, and Momoshiro was in the middle of devouring a large kare-pan. Sanada gritted his teeth in exasperation. "I told them not to feed him."

Momoshiro, who had been licking his fingers, launched himself up from the bench when he saw his captain step forward. "Bucho!" He squeaked, managing to look at least somewhat contrite. "I'm sorry for making you come all this way."

Tezuka didn't rebuke him. Instead, he narrowed his eyes as he took in the physical shape of his player. Momoshiro was sporting a large plaster just under his hairline, and his cheeks and chin were bruised from being struck with Kirihara's knuckle serve. His shirt was dirty, marked from his rounds with the pitching machine, and he was generally scuffed and rumpled from rolling around on the floor. His eye also might have been swelling, just a little.

Tezuka cleared his throat. "Is this the condition he came to you in?"

The entire group had grown quiet, aware of what this looked like. Kirihara pouted incriminatingly with his split lip, while Yagyuu made a hesitant motion with his glasses.

Turning to Sanada, Tezuka remarked, "I would have expected you to take better care of him."

Sanada looked at the unrepentant Momoshiro, whose eyes were shinning in spite of his disheveled appearance. He thought of their brief time training together, and crossed his arms. "What can I say," he rumbled. "He has the kind of face that begs to be hit."

There was an incredulous pause in which Momoshiro made a sound of protest, while behind him the entire Rikkaidai team stared at their vice-captain in shock. As one, they turned to Tezuka, who finally ducked his head in acknowledgement. "Hm," he agreed.

"Bucho," Momoshiro exclaimed, sounding wounded. "You can't just agree with him about that!"

"Denying the truth is futile," Tezuka said, and then he turned to Sanada and bowed formally. "I regret that we can't stay, but there's a bus we need to catch. Thank you for looking out for my team member."

A glance at Momoshiro had him hastening to copy the gesture. "I apologize for being an inconvenience."

Sanada gave him the same glare he had on the bus, the one that made Momoshiro shrink and give him a pitiful look. Grunting, he crossed his arms. "You're forgiven. Perhaps we'll see you another time. When you're invited."

He didn't know that someone could go from looking downtrodden to lit up with delight quite so quickly, but somehow Momoshiro managed. He glanced over his shoulder to the rest of Rikkaidai, a few of whom were giving him a thumbs up. Kirihara shouted, "We'll see you later, Seigaku!"

Momoshiro laughed.

* * *

Yukimara leaned into the wall, pleased when his friend finally made an appearance. He'd already finished his visit with the rest of the team and had been waiting to speak with Sanada before he headed back home.

Sanada nodded in greeting. "Yukimura. I didn't know that you were going to be here."

"Just for a moment," he admitted. Because of a doctor's visit, he hadn't been able to attend this weekend's event. It always bothered him how much responsibility he had to lay on Sanada, and – to be honest – he genuinely coveted every moment they had on the court without him. Coming by had been his way of staying connected. "I wanted to check with everyone, to see how the interschool training camp went."

"It was fine," Sanada said, reticent as ever. As always, he left out the best parts.

"So I heard. However, it seems that things really became interesting when you got back."

Sanada went so far as to pinch the bridge of his nose, a sign of true exasperation. "They told you about it."

Yukimura chuckled. "Momoshiro-kun sounds amusing. I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to meet such a character."

A grunt of dissention. "You're lucky. He was a pain in the ass."

The bluntness was out of character. Always the cultured one, Sanada was almost never crass, at least not out loud. It made Yukimura smile, imagining the provocation. "I don't know. The others seemed to enjoy his company. Akaya actually looked cheerful."

"They got into a fist fight," Sanada said with evident disgust. Then, reluctantly, he added, "It seemed good for him."

Somehow that didn't surprise Yukimura. Since he'd first shown up on the court, stuffed full of attitude and deeply fragile, Kirihara had never done things the conventional way. However, it was unexpected that a stranger had dissected him so quickly. Then again, Yanagi had said Momoshiro was an insightful one. As a matter of fact, all of his team had interesting things to say about their interaction with Seigaku's sophomore stowaway. He'd stirred up the status quo, it seemed, though not necessarily in a bad way.

"And you, Sanada? Did you learn anything from out guest?"

Sanada didn't usually respond to gentle teasing, so it surprised Yukimura when he took on a look of contemplation. He waited, until finally Sanada raised his head and asked, "Will you play a match with me?"

Taken aback by the sudden request, Yukimura repeated, "A match?"

"For fun," Sanada said firmly.

Comprehension came, and Yukimura's mind went back to the National competition, a time when the joy of the game had made all the difference. Maybe they could use a little more of that around here. "I'd like that," he agreed. "Let me get my racket."

* * *

They had already left Rikkaidai and come to stand in front of the bus stop before Tezuka finally deigned to speak. "Was your afternoon as fruitful as you'd hoped?"

Momoshiro scuffed his tennis shoes on the pavement. "What do you mean, Bucho?"

Even if Tezuka hadn't known Momoshiro as well as he did, that shamefaced look he was wearing wasn't fooling anyone. He cleared his throat meaningfully.

Momo averted his eyes. "I really did get on the wrong bus."

Undoubtedly. The question was whether the realization that it was _wrong_ came before or after he set foot on it. Having already made up his mind about the matter, Tezuka merely closed his eyes. He'd always known this little secret about Momoshiro, that beneath that exterior of fumbling amicability, there was a sly character. For reasons of his own, Momo didn't let it out often, but Tezuka wasn't one to be taken in by appearances.

"I had some things I wanted to figure out," Momoshiro finally volunteered, looking off into the darkening horizon. "About why they're so good, and about why we won. When it comes to pure skill, it seems like they should have beaten us."

"Did you find satisfactory answers to your questions?"

Momoshiro squinted. "Sort of. They have amazing drive, those guys, and the way they practice is incredible. Did you know they have their own pitching machines? But their whole way of playing tennis is based on never losing. Sanada-san, and Yukimura-san, too, have this idea that it's the only important thing. It seems really strange to me."

Momoshiro _would_ struggle to understand this perspective. He was the kind of person who made his most dramatic leaps when faced with impossible hurdles. This usually meant challenging opponents much stronger than he was, an if he were afraid of defeat, he would have stopped progressing as a player a long time ago. Tezuka approved of this approach. It was one reason why he'd never pushed to make an obsession with winning a part of Seigaku's culture. After all, not every well-played match ended in victory.

However, Rikkaidai had more struggles than philosophical ones. He acknowledged them by saying, "Rikkaidai has had a very difficult year, and more than one factor came into their loss, but what you say does have merit. There is always a stronger opponent ahead."

Momoshiro nodded. "Sanada-san is amazingly strong. He played a match with me, you know."

"Oh?" Although on the phone he'd deliberately planted a seed of inquiry, Tezuka hadn't expected Sanada to pursue it so far. Although, perhaps he was underestimating Momoshiro. He glanced at the younger man beside him. A puzzle box, he'd said. "How did it go?"

"Crushed me, of course. But I think, maybe, I get why Sanada almost lost to you."

Tezuka paused. "What was your conclusion?"

He didn't expect to be met with an expression of such strong affection. "Sanada-san was fighting to win the battle, but you were playing for all of us."

Tezuka didn't speak for a long moment as he carefully rearranged his reaction, tucking away the warm feeling that grew in his chest for private examination another time. Finally, he cleared his throat. "You've always had a unique perspective."

Momoshiro had turned mischievous. "I don't think Sanada-san liked it. I'm pretty sure I raised his blood pressure."

"You did cause a lot of trouble."

Momo suddenly looked nervous, although it was a bit late, really, for remorse. "Are you mad?"

For seeking out answers to his questions about the reasons for success and failure? For demonstrating his unusual form of prowess to forge bonds with enemies? For having the courage to confront the ideals of a powerful personality like Sanada Gen'ichiro?

"No," Tezuka said shortly. The bus was pulling up, its gears squeaking, and he put his hand on the rail. There, he stopped and looked back at Momoshiro. "Not that your behavior will go without consequences. As punishment, I've decided you will run the entire distance from Tokyo to Kanagawa. That's thirty-seven kilometers. You can start at the beginning of practice tomorrow. Inui will be monitoring."

Momoshiro's dismayed cry echoed down the entire street.

* * *

Author's Note:

Lord's sake, this was an undertaking. Written as a gift for _**Descending Rain**_, who requested a story in which Momoshiro interacted with the members of Rikkaidai. Imagine my surprise when I realized it was over twenty pages! I blame Yanagi. Every time I thought I was finished, some inquiry of his would pop into my mind and I'd end up adding another scene. That, and Sanada. He's so serious, but I just couldn't write him completely straight.

As a side not, the story made passing reference to _himitsu-bako,_ traditional Japanese puzzle boxes which may only be opened by a certain sequence of movements. Although there are varying complexities, some have more than one thousand steps. Inside, there is often a hidden object, like a good luck charm. Until you open it, it's impossible to know. :D

* * *

This is my final story for this collection. It has been incredibly fun, and I truly appreciate those of you who have contributed by sending me your comments and support. In particular, I'd like to acknowledge these reoccurring reviewers: _**AspergianStoryteller, Axya, cityangelz, ****Descending Rain, F**_**_lying kingfisher, june2021, and Mariposa_. **This story is complete because of you. Many thanks!


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